


Touching Water

by wordsmith_squared



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen
Genre: Amnesia, Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Gen, Slow Burn, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:07:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 51
Words: 116,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25432090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsmith_squared/pseuds/wordsmith_squared
Summary: **THIS STORY IS NOW COMPLETE**What happens when two lost souls collide?After an accident leaves Charlotte Heywood with amnesia, she struggles to make sense of her life in the tragic aftermath. Her journey places her in Sidney Parker's class, an expert in Soul Theory, with demons of his own.This work is co-written by @onedaytweet2 and @TahiraOsman4, creators of #SidlotteLetters on Twitter
Relationships: Charlotte Heywood/Sidney Parker, Lord Babington/Esther Denham, Mary Parker/Tom Parker (Sanditon)
Comments: 1082
Kudos: 903





	1. CHARLOTTE

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been a long time coming! 
> 
> Who knew that a random response to a tweet would escalate into something as crazy as a full blown fanfic, co-authored by two strangers, in two countries who have never even met?
> 
> We hope that you guys enjoy our newest Sidlotte adventure! Please give us honest feedback and let us know what you think...  
> (Lemme tell ya, freedom from Twitter limits feels pretty darn good!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it begins...Charlotte embarking on life, alone and with no memory of what came before.

(CHARLOTTE)

I open my eyes to the familiar white walls of the hospital room. I have very precise memories of everything that transpired in the last twelve days here. My mind is absolutely blank with respect to everything else. According to my driver’s license my name is Charlotte. I am nervous about leaving the hospital today. This is now the only familiar place in my life. Dr. Fuchs knocks on the door with that rushed and eager tap, which I have learned to recognize.

“Charlotte!” His voice booms and echoes off the walls “Are you sure you don’t want to try any of the treatments I suggested? I insist you reconsider. There are ways to treat retrograde amnesia…”

“Dr. Fuchs…” I feel a tremble in my voice “I am absolutely certain that I do not wish to undergo any treatment for the amnesia. I will try creative therapies, as we discussed.” 

He is ready to protest. I can see the irritability in his eyes. He moves around impatiently from one side of the room to the other, his arms behind his back. He stops suddenly.

“I don’t understand your stubbornness about this. Don’t you want to remember?”

This question brings immediate tears to my eyes. They start trickling down. The wide void in my memories is terrifying. The fact that no one came to see me in the hospital is even more devastating. I counted every knock on my hospital room door, raising my eyes with anticipation, hoping for a visit from a loved one. No one sent me flowers or ‘get well’ wishes. I must have appeared so pathetically disappointed that the hospital staff ordered a bouquet of flowers and had it delivered to my room. I am convinced that there is no one in this world that cares for me. I must have been unloved and unhappy. So why should I rush to remember that life? I clear the tightness in my throat, brush the tears away, and say with as much resolve as I can manage:

“I do. But I want to do it on my own terms.”

He lets out an annoyed mutter under his breath, but I can tell that he feels defeated. 

“All right. All right. You win, but you are doing this against my advice and recommendation. I will let you explore whatever therapies you want to try, but I need you to promise that, if things do not improve in the next six months, you will come back to see me.”

I nod. I don’t have any intention of coming back, but I would never admit this in front of him. He suggests that I keep a journal. Somehow, I find great solace in the thought of writing in a journal every day. 

Before I leave, the nurse brings me a card signed by everyone. This kind gesture makes me feel the lump in my throat again. She gives me a hug.

“Let me accompany you downstairs. I ordered you a cab to take you home…” She hesitates. “I hope that was not too presumptuous of me.”

“No, thank you! Thank you for everything!”

* * *

As I ride the unfamiliar streets of a city I don’t recognize, the cab driver chatters incessantly. I am mesmerized by the green of the trees, the smell of flowers in the air, the various noises of the everyday hustle and bustle. I don’t know where I fit in this picture. His voice shakes me out of my daydreaming.

“We are here, miss.”

We are in front of a small apartment building with a large gated front yard. Two tall trees on each side provide comfortable shade. There is a garden in front of the entryway. I can see how one would like to live here. It feels peaceful and homey. There is a sense of community. 

I open the front building door after trying various keys. The only thing that survived the accident, I was told, was a small bag with my driver’s license and my keys. My phone was apparently in the car and it did not make it. I walk up the stairs to unit 306. My heart thumps loudly. My hands are trembling as I try to open the door to my apartment. An apartment that belonged to the old Charlotte. I don’t know what to expect. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and rush in. To my surprise, the apartment is almost empty. I look around in confusion. Did I get the wrong apartment? I verify the address on the driver’s license. No, this is it.

Slowly, I explore the bedroom. Other than the bed and a night table, there is nothing there. My closet has very few clothes. Frantically, I search pockets for clues. I open the night stand rustling through bank statements, looking at my purchases. Grocery store, bookstore, a coffee place… A mysterious deposit of money to my account every month. I make a mental note that I need to investigate this further.

I look in the living room. There is a small coffee table and a comfortable chair. A laptop neatly placed on the table. This is it! This will help me remember. I open it. It requests I enter my password. No! I don’t know the password. It then suggests that I open my password hint. I immediately click the prompt: “You wish you were in…” This hint is not helpful. 

I collapse in the chair, defeated. A beautiful framed landscape photograph takes over most of that wall. Pristine sea waters, palm trees. A deserted beach tucked neatly, surrounded by trees and rocks. Where is this place? I take the picture down and look at it with interest. I take the frame apart. Nothing. It does not say anything about the photographer or the place. How is this possible? Was I living in hiding? There is no trace of my personality in this home. Other than this landscape picture, nothing here seems to tell my story. 

I go out in search of the landlord. He is a rather unpleasant little old man.

“Oh, Miss Heywood! You are late with your payment for the month!”

I explain that I was in an accident and I have lost my memory. He seems to be unmoved. In fact, he looks at me like I am lying. My frustration starts to build up. 

“Look, I will pay the rent. But I really need your help. When I submitted an application here, did I list an emergency contact or a reference?”

He shuffles papers in his office. 

“Ah, her it is! You listed a James.”

“Is there a phone number?” I am ready to snatch the paper out of his hands. Seeing my impatience, he hands it to me. 

“Can I please use your phone? _Please_!”

He nods. I wait for him to leave, but he just sits there. 

“Could you please give me some privacy?”

He mutters something and leaves the office. With trembling fingers I dial the number. My heart stops. “This is an invalid number.” The automated system repeats several times before I hang up. I walk back to my apartment in a maze of thoughts. I failed at every step today, like the universe has decided that it is best for me not to remember. I sit on my chair, open the first page of the empty journal Dr. Fuchs gave me, and write the only thing that feels real: 

_What is a soul without memories?_


	2. SIDNEY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we go with our OG homeboy...and Arthur too!

(SIDNEY)  
 _"Dreams are windows to the soul"_

  
We all dream, though most of us are lucky enough not to remember our altered realities, the endless possibility that stretches between wake and sleep. 

I'm not one of those people.

The first thing you need to know about me is that I hate sleeping. Like, hate it with a capital H. It wasn't always this way, but death has a strange way of haunting you long after it's done its damage. Most of my dreams are the same, coming unannounced and without invitation in the dead of night. All of them leave me more fragile than I want to admit.

In them, I'm trembling, my fingers covered in slick, gushing liquid. Head pounding, blurred vision, lights flashing, someone's weakening grip on my hand the only thing tethering me in place. A heavy weight on my chest, stealing my numbered breaths. My mother's broken body, her gasping voice telling me to hold on, even as she lets go. 

It's a nightmarish ritual. Me, working late into the night just to avoid closing my eyes. The inevitable subconscious knifing, twisting and turning, making me relive the same trauma on repeat.

But tonight is different. 

Tonight I dream of water, defying gravity, suspended like a rippling wall before me. When I peer at my reflection, a woman's shifting form peers back. Her features are indiscernible, her slow head tilt mirroring my own. Without warning, her hands slam against the water, her mouth forming desperate, gurgling words. My heart pounds furiously. She's trapped but I can't get to her...

_I need to help her, I feel it in my bones._

But when I touch the water's surface, it splinters and I wake in cold sweat, the memory of the dream quickly dissipating into a lingering sense of unease.

* * *

The second thing you need to know about me is that I worship coffee. Seriously, I can't live without the stuff. I'm not snobbish about it either, almost anything will do.

It's still dark out when I heave my legs over the side of the bed, pulling last night's sweats over my boxers and slipping on a questionably clean shirt from my bedroom floor. My need for coffee is the only thing persuasive enough to get me out of bed this early. It overrides everything, and if I'm being honest with myself, I need a hit of caffeine to even begin processing that dream. I run a shaky hand up my face and through my hair, taking a steadying breath before heading into the kitchen. 

I don't make it far. In the pitch darkness, my feet trip over a solid mass on the floor, sending me flying. I land with a hard thump on my face.

 _"What the hell--??_ " This is the tamest of many curses. It hurts like the blazes.

"'Is that you Sidney? You really should be more careful, you know." 

Arthur. Of course it is. He yawns loudly, his sleepy voice piercing the charged silence. I hit the lights, looking down at his sorry state, wreaking of cheap booze and congealed nachos.

"Jesus, Arthur! Why're you half naked in the middle of my living room floor? What time did you get in, anyway?"

"First of all, I live here." His words are slightly slurred as he makes a half-assed attempt to shift his sleepy form. "And second, where did you get this carpet? It's so soft..."

I bite back my frustration. Since when did coffee become so complicated?

"You don't live here, you squat here. You're a resident squatter."

"I'm _deeply_ offended. I'm your roommate. Have you no respect for the sanctity of our living arrangement?" 

To his credit, he does sound a bit hurt, but after the night I just had I'm not taking the bait.

"Do you pay rent?"

"Do you?," he shoots back, fully awake now.

"Hey, I own the place."

"And I'm your brother."

"Proving my point....you're a squatter. Now get up before I kick your ass for getting between me and my coffee."

I watch him closely. I can tell he wants to keep on sparring with me, wisely deciding against it at the last moment. He rises, stretching enormously before slowly trudging to the washroom. I'm in the kitchen when his voice rings through the apartment.

"Whatever Sidney. You love me. I'm the only one keeping you from falling apart!"

I chuckle to myself. He's not wrong, you know, most of the time. As far as brothers go, I won the lottery with that one.

* * *

Three cups of coffee later, I find myself pulling up to the Living Arts Building at Seneca College. The brownstone building is ancient compared to the sleek glass monoliths at the annexed university, but atleast the landscaping is flawless (not that it helps.)

I sit back in the driver's seat, glancing furtively at the newer buildings, giving into the pity party going on in my head for a hot second. I think about the tenured position, the tidy office, the kids queuing up to take my classes before family drama hit the roof, causing me to give it all up. 

_For this_.

Gritting my teeth, I tuck my internal rebellion neatly back in place and head up to the third floor for my meeting with Nylah Patel, Program Coordinator for the college's Philosophy Department. 

I'm nervous. I also teach two English courses, but this is the only one the matters personally to me. I built Anatomy of the Soul from the ground up, shaped by experience and years of research, and it worries me that I'm being called in about it this close to Frosh Week.

"Sidney! Come in!" 

Nylah gives me a haphazard hug, pushing me in the direction of an overstuffed armchair. She's forty-ish with flawless caramel skin, sleek black hair, and the air of a woman who's got the weight of the world on her shoulders. She sits down across across from me, crossing her legs neatly. We've been friends for years, and I appreciate her no-nonsense attitude.

"You look like shit."

"Ouch, Nylah. Tell me how you really feel."

"You know me, I call it like I see it. Maybe consider getting some sleep before the semester starts?" 

She cocks her brow and gives me a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"So, what's all this about?," I ask lightly, afraid of the answer. "Please don't tell me you've shifted the class to an earlier time slot...you know I don't do mornings."

"Listen Sid, I'm not gonna mince words. Dean 'Asshole' has been on the hunt for courses to drop amid funding cuts. He raised the base enrollment numbers and your course is on the chopping block."

I'm too stunned to speak. Not even her creative name for the College's straitlaced Dean can lift my spirits. I'm angry; my course is arguably the department's most popular.

"Are you kidding me?" 

I can barely choke out the words. Nylah shakes her head sadly. 

"He's being really petty about it, too. You only need one more student to meet the new bottomline...you know as well as I do that he's always thought our department is a dud."

"Fuck."

"Sidney, one more student isn't an impossibility this late in the game. You'll be the first to know, either way."

I nod slowly. Her gentle tone does nothing to calm me because deep down, I feel like I've already lost.


	3. CHARLOTTE

(CHARLOTTE)

A female figure tiptoes across a long corridor, the night blanket covering the entire house in eerie silence. The wood floor barely creaks under her feet. It seems that she is floating, not walking. She opens the door to a room, a small night light flickering at a bed table. The room is decorated with flowers and butterflies. She bends gently to kiss the sleepy face of a little girl. She caresses her hair, a soft mumble of ineligible words… Then, water starts taking over the room, gushing from everywhere.

I jump in my bed, panting. My dreams have been very vivid since the accident, but this one felt so real. In my long conversations with Dr. Fuchs, I explained that all of my dreams are drowned in water. He said that I need to record them and discuss them with a psychologist. 

I sit in my bed, taking deep breaths, to calm my pulse. It’s five in the morning. I need to write down this dream in my journal. Writing feels so therapeutic. It helps me to step away from the constant inner dialogue in my head. After putting the journal down, I notice a pile of books under the table. “Ha!” How did I miss those? The one on top really gets me curious: “The philosophy of the soul.” I flip through the pages. It is interesting. I wonder what old Charlotte had to do with this book. 

I go to the kitchen and make a cup of strong black coffee. It tastes so bitter, I spit it out. My plan today is to find out who sends me money every month. I am convinced this holds a clue to my past and, after the dream I just had, I really want to find at least one clue. I am also stopping at the local tech store to see if the geeks on shift can help me crack the password to my laptop. 

I walk by a nice little coffee place. On a whim, I decide to grab a legitimate coffee made by a barista and some breakfast pastries. I munch it all on my way to the bank. As I walk through the heavy metal door, the security guard welcomes me with a wide grin on his face. 

“Uh, miss, you have some crumbs on your face.” He points in the general direction of my chin.

I brush them quickly, looking down. How embarrassing… A bank teller finally waves at me to approach. I give her my bank card and driver’s license so that she can verify my account. She seems too young to be doing this job, but there is some sweetness about her face that makes me feel at ease. She smiles politely at me.

“How can I help you, Miss Heywood?”

“Erm… I wanted to verify some information about this monthly deposit that I see on my statements. It is the same amount, but the description is very difficult to understand…”

She observes me with curiosity. She looks at the bank statements and then her computer and, after a few minutes, asks incredulously.

“So, you have been receiving this money for over a year now, but you never knew where it comes from?”

I blush at her direct question. She’s got a point. I am sure I knew who is sending me money before the accident. I wonder if my honesty about the accident will result in the same skepticism I experienced with my landlord. 

“I was recently in a car accident… The head injury resulted in loss of some memories. I am afraid that this deposit is one mystery I cannot solve…”

She gasps. 

_“I am so sorry!_ I really apologize for my impertinence.”

“No, no, don't apologize! You had every reason to ask me this question. Is there any additional information you can see?”

She looks at her screen for a long while. I can see her clicking through screens, typing something and clicking again.

“The only additional information I can find here is that the money originates in Spain. Does this help you at all?”

“Is there any information available about the sender?”

“No, Miss, I'm so sorry.”

I collect my things and say my goodbyes, leaving the polite people at the bank to do their job. My clues so far: _James and Spain._

* * *

My adventure at the tech shop is also fruitless. The geeky nerd with glasses warns me that I may lose all the data if he tries to recover it, but I let him give it a go. What’s the downside anyways? I leave with the same old laptop, but it is set to the original factory settings, so it fits my life perfectly. Everything new, nothing old. Distractedly, I walk down the streets of this city that is so foreign to me. I really need to find new purpose. A handwritten sign at a small mom and pop’s place grabs my attention. “Best ham and cheese in town.” That sounds delicious. 

I order the special with a small orange juice and sign into the guest WiFi. I enter a Google search for “ _The Philosophy of the Soul._ ” I get a number of entries on the book and some very dense peer review articles. An ad for Seneca College pops on my screen. “Study philosophy with the best!” While I am not impressed with their ad, I start browsing their class schedule. Classes start very soon. This college offers classes for adult learners. Most classes are at night. This is actually a pretty nice way to get my feet wet. There is only one class that truly captures my interest - the  _ Anatomy of the Soul. _ The faculty bio seems intriguing as well.

***

_ Sidney Parker (BA, MA, Ph.D.) _

_ Sidney Parker is Seneca's youngest instructor, specializing in Soul Theory and the Human Subconscious. Before joining us, he taught for three years at McMaster University, rising quickly amongst his peers as a pioneer in revolutionizing student-led sleep studies and dream mapping.  _

_ Mr. Parker also teaches Post-Modern English Literature.  _

***

I sign up for the class. It is not expensive at all. The college is in Emberville, at least 20 miles away from where I live. That’s quite the commute, especially at night…

Since coming hone from the hospital, I have been thinking that I need a big change in my life. With new Charlotte come new adventures. So, today, I make several bold moves. I sign up for a class, I call the landlord to tell him I will be leaving in two weeks, and I drive to an apartment building in Emberville, where I hope to lease a one bedroom so that I can be close to Seneca College. 

* * *

I'm pleasantly surprised by Emberville. It has a small town feel, with picturesque streets and artisan shops, but it is actually a fairly large city in our area. There is green everywhere, the smell of flowers and fresh air. There is also a lake nearby, where people seem to really enjoy themselves kayaking, swimming and just dipping their feet in the water. I am not opposed to reinventing myself here.

The apartment building that I checked out on the internet is located on a snug little street in an up and coming neighborhood. It has a lively vibe, with bars and restaurants; it has such a unique character. I imagine that it is quite noisy at night, a significant upgrade to my current apartment. I am still convinced that I must have been living in hiding, but since I don’t remember why, I might as well hide in a more vibrant place this time.

I stand in front of the building, waiting for my meeting time with the landlord. A friendly old lady comes out and greets me.

“Do you need help, miss?”

“Erm… I'm meeting with the landlord to see one of the vacant apartments…” 

“You are moving here? How splendid!” She interrupts me half sentence. “My name is Mrs. Hardy. I've lived here many years now. You know, the neighborhood has changed quite a bit. It’s getting all noisy with these young loud people moving in. I don’t mean you, of course, you seem like a kind, quiet young lady.” 

I'm not sure I love her assessment, but I know so little of myself that I limit my reaction to a polite smile. The landlord comes to my rescue and Mrs. Hardy seems very disappointed. 

“Nice meeting you, Mrs. Hardy!” I yell over my shoulder as we walk away. 

The apartment is beautiful. The sun comes through the large window in the afternoon. I can visualize the perfect place for my table and comfy chair. There is a perfect wall in the living room for my mysterious framed picture. I can see myself decorating this apartment slowly to give it more life. 

“I love it!” So, I sign the documentation for the new lease. Prepaying two months in advance is what it takes to get it without having to answer too many questions. With that, I'm running low on cash, so my next goal will be to find a part time job. 

I end my day by journaling: _ “ A bruised soul lives in sorrow. A forgetful one seeks a new life.” _

  
  



	4. SIDNEY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All it takes is one look for everything to change... well that, and maybe a nosy neighbour.

(SIDNEY)  
 _"I put my heart and my soul into my work and have lost my mind in the process"_  
 _\- van Gogh_

  
**_Sid: any news??_ **

**_Nylah: nothing yet...hang tight_ **

  
I'm not ok.

Over the next week I tweak the syllabus, just in case. Then I tweak it again, write some stuff, kill two house plants with apple juice and put salt in my coffee. I realize that I'm a wreck right about the same time salt assaults my senses.

"Would you quit pacing, you're making me nervous."

"Am not."

Arthur jerks the Nintendo control, shifting to avoid an imaginary missile on the obnoxiously gory video game he's playing.

"Yes, you are. You're like a monkey on crack. Man up and just ask what's-her-face what's going on with your class. You're driving me insane...I mean, you killed Edna!"

"Edna's a stupid name for a plant...and more importantly, the only crime here is the coffee I just slaughtered."

"I'd say you're hurting Edna's feelings, but guess what? _She's dead."_

I dump the sad remains of my briny drink down the drain, not bothering to make a new cup. Arthur's right, I need to get a grip on reality. I tell myself that the course being cancelled isn't the end of the world, though it sure as hell feels like it. I feel like I'm losing a part of myself, and with it an excuse to better understand the nature of my dreams.

Vaguely, I realize that the TV's gone silent. Arthur's padded footsteps sound behind me. He leans against the kitchen island with a wickedly smug expression on his face. Nothing good ever came from that look.

"You know what you need?"

"I already don't like where this is going..."

I busy myself loading the dishwasher, because let's face it, unless I do it it won't get done.

"You need an intervention! You haven't been out in ages..."

"NOPE!"  
I slam the dishwasher shut and storm out of the kitchen. Arthur hurries after me. The last time he staged an "intervention" I got plastered... a week out from defending my thesis. 

"You look pasty, it's quite scary, really..."

"Bugger off, Arthur."

"Ohhhh I'm going to call Georgie and Babs and Esther. You need booze and greasy food and--"

"It's. Not. Happening."

"It's happening Sidney....it's happening. Don't fight the power."

If looks could kill, he'd probably be... unconscious at the very least. He whips out his phone just as mine buzzes to life. 

**_Nylah: 1 dropout. 2 more to meet bottomline. Sorry kiddo...there's still time, but be prepared for the worst._ **

I don't bother answering her message. There's no point. As I slip my phone back in my pocket, I can feel my heart sinking to the pit of my stomach.

"On second thought, Arthur, a drink is exactly what I need."

I don't have to see him to know he's fist-pumping the air victoriously. After all, I've just given him permission to commandeer my life for the night. 

I'm regretting it already.

* * *

I can barely hear anything over the pulsating house music at the club Arthur's brought me to. It's a fairly new place that just opened down the street. 

_Jeez, it's like the 90's threw up in here._

Don't get me wrong, it was a great decade, but the neon lights, graffitied ceilings and wall to wall posters of everything from 90210 to 'N' Sync is a bit much. At least the drinks are strong and the food is decent, but none of that compensates for the fact that I'd still rather be at home.

The moment my best friend Babbers and his girlfriend Esther hit the club, Arthur dumped me for the dancefloor with his friend Georgiana. From where I sit, I can see him sweating up a storm in his pink Hawaiian shirt. I kinda hate him right now.

"Earth to Sidney!"

It's Esther, shouting at me over the chaos right before she twists my ear.

"Ouch!" I massage my wound. "What the heck was what for?"

"I've been trying to get your attention for two whole minutes! What's up with you?"

She smirks delicately, brushing a strand of long red hair from her pretty face.

"I've been telling Babs how excited I am to finally take your course."

"Seriously, Sid, she won't shut up about it," Babbers adds, kissing her hand.

"You two make me sick," I say, smiling warmly at them. Esther rolls her eyes at me before speaking again.

"Honestly, I can't wait to see how those college girls fawn all over you..." _Oh, Mr. Parker, I like blue. No way, you too? I think we're meant to be_..." she fake swoons and dissolves into laughter. "How many girls have done that so far? Five, six?"

 _Ten, twelve_. But no way am I admitting that. I tip back my drink and swallow the burn. 

"Well, class might be cancelled, so it's highly unlikely you'll get to see me in action. Low enrollment and funding cuts," I finish dryly. Her mirth is replaced by a shocked expression.

"I hope I'll get my money back!"

"Esther! Come on, be gentle. You know that class is like his baby."

"Ughhhhh I know! I KNOW! But I worked hard for that money." Her expression softens and she takes my hand. "Sorry Sid...joking aside, I really did want to take your class. Maybe I can convince one of my girlfriends to take the class too?"

"Thanks Esther. Means a lot." 

I appreciate her offer, but have zero expectations. I squeeze her hand before she lets go, noting that she looks a bit uncomfortable. She glances furtively toward Arthur on the dancefloor and I know she's looking for an out. Esther's never been great in the face of crisis.

"I think I'm going to go join Georgie and your brother. Gotta make them look cool!" 

She gives Babs a quick kiss before leaving, and he follows her movements with a faint smile on his face. He's so in love, it borders on obscene. The moment she's out of earshot I bury my face in my hands. Babs assesses me, taking in my tired eyes and "I don't give a shit" hair. He claps my shoulder reassuringly.

"You never know Sid. Things may well work out."

"Doubt it."

I groan my frustration into the tabletop.

"Still dreaming, huh?"

"Always dreaming. I'm a fucking expert in the field and I can't even figure myself out."

"Anything new?"

"Nope. Same dream."

I'm surprised at how easily the lie slips through my teeth. I've never withheld the details of my dreams from him, but my latest one feels much too raw and far too personal. He swirls his drink, considering his words.

"You need to get laid."

I choke so hard that I'm gasping for air.

  
"I don't think so," I say forcefully. "I'm not on the market. Not even looking."

"No one's ever looking, Sid, and for God's sake I said get laid, not move in with your one night stand! Might do you some good."

He looks at me meaningfully, and I know we're both thinking about my last disastrous relationship attempt. _Eliza Campion_. One night stand turned three month stay, harder to get rid of than red wine on white carpet.

It's all too much right now. Nothing makes sense. I scan the room, overwhelmed by the music, my senseless dreams, the feeling of my life falling apart...

 _ **And then it happens**_.

My gaze locks with hers across the room. I feel an electric jolt in my core, as if I've been asleep until this very moment. My chair scrapes back and in the split second it takes to stand, I lose sight of her. I can't even describe what she looks like, only that it felt as if I was being remade under her gaze. Ridiculous, I know.

"Hey, you ok?"

Babbers looks extremely perplexed, his kind face masked with concern. I swallow hard, reeling and breathless.

"No. Not even a little bit." 

* * *

I could tell you I didn't dream, but then I'd be lying. 

Shifting water, brittle like unbroken glass, threatening jagged cuts. There's no way through this deceptive liquid. A girl's anguished shadow on the other side, banging bloody fists against her watery prison... suddenly she stills, a single word echoing against the sound of cascading water. 

" _YOU_."

As the banging gets louder, my eyes open, blinking in time to the pace of my heart. _What on earth was that?_ I check the alarm clock on the nightstand. It's 7:20 am on Saturday morning, and I'm still very much hungover from last night's emotional attack (although I'm pretty sure there was alcohol involved.) 

Curiously, the banging persists, and it takes me a full blown minute to realize that it's coming from the front door.I know exactly who it is. 

Lazily, I saunter out of bed, taking my sweet time shuffling to the door and opening it. I'm greeted by Mrs Hardy, my compact and perfectly coiffed next door neighbour. Full of everybody's business, with a healthy side of judgement to boot.

"Why did you get in after two this morning?" She narrows her beady eyes. "Were you selling drugs?"

"Good Morning to you as well Mrs. Hardy. I'm fine, how are you?"

"Smartass." She tsks loudly, waving something at me. "Your mail got mixed up with mine. Again."

She says this as though I'm personally responsible for the mailman's mistakes. If I didn't know better, I'd swear she was swiping my mail for an excuse to gossip. I take the envelopes from her.

"I'm in your debt. Thank you..."

I need this conversation to end. I need to lie down. I need two aspirin. But she's not budging. 

"New girl moving in downstairs. Maybe a few years younger than you. Seems nice and quiet. Very pretty if you ask me."

"Hmmmm...I didn't, though."

"No need to be rude. You should ask her out instead of spending night and day knee deep in those useless books. Live a little!"

"So...you want me to ask out a total stranger?"

"How will she ever _not_ be a stranger if you don't ask her out?"

She wags her brows suggestively while I implore the gods for patience. I'm still not over that inexplicable connection with "mystery girl" last night, and I certainly don't need my neighbour matchmaking for me. Just then, Arthur tumbles out of his bedroom, jolly as ever.

"Mrs, Hardy! Is that you? Tell me, how is it possible you look _this_ perfect so early in the morning?"

I leave them to it, sighing with relief as I retreat to my room. Turns out, there is a God.


	5. ARTHUR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully Arthur's perspective will give depth to both his relationship with his brother...and Sidney himself!

(ARTHUR)

_ Because brothers don't let each other wander in the dark alone _

The need for grilled cheese hits me like a Mack truck at midnight...crispy bread, gooey cheese, enough butter to make me sick. My stomach grumbles to life at the thought, propelling me into the kitchen to forage for fixings to satisfy the craving. 

I hear it first when my head is stuck in the fridge, and then again just after I'd bitten off a chunk of cheddar from the block. I chew slowly, savoring the sharp cheesy tang, listening in the dark for the all too familiar sound to recur.

Sidney, talking in his sleep. Dreaming.

_ "What is it you want from me?" _

His voice is low, the words pained as if they come at great cost. Sandwich forgotten, I tiptoe to his room, creaking the door open to watch his face contort sadly in the moonlight, his body twisting to whatever story plays out in his mind. I wonder which version he's reliving this time, whether he'll wake overcome with guilt, or if his memory will gift him with merciful forgetting.

He was eighteen when our parents died unexpectedly in a fiery crash. That was almost twelve years ago. By all accounts he should have died too, but instead he watched helplessly while pinned inside the wreckage. No one should have to witness their parents die. Not like that. Better yet, not at all. Afterward, he didn't attend their funeral, and has never visited their graves. I guess...he just couldn't face it... but I know he dreams of them, subconsciously seeking the closure he's avoided while waking.

The silvery glow works strange magic on his handsome features, smoothing them to resemble the boy he once was before everything changed. I see the hidden depth of his compassion, masked by unsmiling lips. I see the guy who loves kids, but hates football, who would give a homeless person the shirt off his back (seriously, he did that once). I see his silent sorrow, but also his incredible capacity for love, all the tiny bits that make up his complex reality.

Not for the first time, I wish he had someone to share his life with. To make him a little less lonely, filling all his empty spaces.

For a moment, I consider waking him, but his restless sleep talking ends as abruptly as it began. Unbidden, a memory of our mother sneaks vividly into my thoughts, bringing with it the sting of tears. I recall something she once said to me as a child, when I was upset with Sidney for not playing with me. I haven't thought about it in years.

**_-Your brother is a Lost Boy, Arthur._ **

**_-Like Peter Pan?_ **

**_-Yeah buddy, just like Peter Pan. But even Lost Boys need help finding their way home._ **

From that day, I was stuck to his side, imagining we were Lost Boys together. I preferred his company to Tom's, who was coldly indifferent, and Diana's, who coddled me until I couldn't breathe. Sidney just...let me be. And he never complained about his clumsy little brother tagging along on all his escapades.  _ He _ was the one who taught me to tie my shoelaces, who gave me his slice of cake every single time. He rescued me at every turn.

Now it's my turn to rescue him.

If he wants to call it squatting, so be it. Yeah, I'm going to mooch his food and screw with his fancy coffee maker and take him out against his will. But I'm also going to make him a grilled cheese sandwich because I know he's going to wake up in a few minutes in search of coffee and a snack.

* * *

We stuff our faces in relative silence, Sidney shaking the crumbs neatly from his face when he's done. I don't mention what I overheard, partly to preserve his manhood, but mostly because I know he doesn't want to speak about it. He never does.

"Thanks for that, Arthur. How did you know I'd wake up?"

"I didn't. I needed grilled cheese. You snuck up on me and stole my second sandwich. End of story." I give him a healthy dose of cut eye. "Thanks, by the way. I'm still hungry."

" _ Needed _ ?" He laughs, endlessly amused by my food cravings. 

"Yeah, "needed". You got a problem with that?" 

"Nope. Not at all."

He gives me a lopsided grin, lifting his hands in mock surrender before reaching forward to scroll through his phone. I'm deciding whether I need antacids when Sidney let's out an excited whoop.

"HELL YES!!," he shouts

"You gonna tell me what's so damn exciting before I die of heartburn? Because I'm dying, I'm literally dying." 

"My class is happening! How did I miss Nylah's message? There's been three last minute enrollments..."

He starts typing furiously while I rub my chest in search of some relief.

"Well thank God for that," I groan. "I was beginning to think I'd have to kill you and hide the evidence. You've been fucking insufferable."

He pauses to stare at me in the dark, his murderous expression lasting only a second before we both bust out laughing.

"I was _not_ insufferable," he mutters, mostly to himself.

"Yeah dude, you damn well were."

He says nothing. He knows I'm right.


	6. CHARLOTTE

(CHARLOTTE)

_ The air appears heavy from the high temperature. The branches of the trees are barely moving. With no wind, the heat burns the fresh grass. A girl with long dark hair sings sad lullabies while swaying from a wooden swing attached to an old oak tree. The figure of a young boy, a few years older than her, appears next to her, caressing her hair and pushing the swing to give her momentum. She lifts her legs up towards the sky. Suddenly, the sun disappears, and angry dark clouds start pouring heavy cold rain everywhere. The girl falls from the swing crying… _

I leap from my bed with drops of cold sweat streaming down my neck. It’s five in the morning. I do my regular routine of deep breaths and meditation techniques. They help me relax, but they never make the dreams disappear. In fact, as of late, my dreams are much more colorful, and I wake up with sensations of touch and smell. As the sun starts to come out, I sit in my chair writing in the journal. I have been doing a lot of writing.. 

As I have nothing better to do and no one to talk to, I start my search for a part-time job. I look at the Careers’ section of the local Emberville News. There are some jobs for baristas, administrative assistants, receptionists, nannies… I also find an exotic ad for a local tour guide. I collapse my arms on my thighs with a big sigh. I don’t know that I can do any of these jobs. Also, the idea of social interactions with coworkers every day makes me feel anxious. 

An announcement captures my attention. The Emberville News' editorial staff is looking for contributors for their fiction stories section and they are paying for it. Every story that gets selected is published. They invite people to submit examples of stories to a general e-mail address. This sounds ideal. I would not have to interact with anyone. I can just send my stories when required. Unfortunately, I am certain that they have plenty of good writers and my abstract stories based on dreams will have no appeal whatsoever. I submit a story anyways; a story that will fall into a void, I am sure, just like everything else in my life.

I have not felt this lonely since my long days in the hospital bed, counting the knocks on my door. I would sometimes close my eyes and experience an excruciating dread from the ominous emptiness in my soul. We are the collection of memories we form, a thread of little and big knots, connected in surprising ways. I see people sometimes with their eyes vaguely looking into the distance, when a smile suddenly lights up their face. They must be remembering something that made them feel joy. I am always so jealous of them. 

* * *

I decide to end my pity party before I dive further into the scary depths of my true despair. I need to get some groceries. A girl needs to eat. I look up the local stores and find one close by that seems to have the things I enjoy most. I think that I am in the mood for baking, so I make a shopping list and head out. 

I find the store with no problems. It has all the ingredients I need and then some. The coffee isle is remarkable. It’s heaven for the insomniacs. I do my best limiting my purchases, as I am trying to save these days. Until I find a job, I am afraid to spend the little that is left in my account. 

As I walk into the elevator with all the shopping bags, I nearly collide with a cheeky ball of energy. He has pink cheeks like Saint Nicholas, curly hair, and a well kept belly. He has an altogether jolly look about himself. He has the brightest smile on his face and greets me like we have known each other all our lives. 

“Hello there! You must be our new neighbor! Mrs. Hardy told me that she met you. My name is Arthur. I live on the third floor with my brother. Of course, I am the better looking one, but don’t tell him I said that! He has no luck with the girls, poor guy. I don’t know if it’s his looks or the fact that he spends way too much time with his books”

“Hi, Arthur, nice to meet you.” I say shyly, taken aback by his overzealous frankness. 

“You look like you need some help. Ha! I see you discovered the best local store. Don’t you think they have the most amazing things! I love their pastry bar and the wine selection is to die for. My brother absolutely adores their coffee choices. He doesn’t sleep much, so coffee is an essential for him, you know…” He winks and laughs out loud.

I can't help but smile.

“Let me get those for you!” He says while grabbing the shopping bags out of my hands. I attempt to protest, but to no avail. He chatters non stop while I dig for my key to open the door.

“Wow! Your apartment is great, but a bit empty. Are you expecting more furniture to arrive?”

“Erm, no, not really. I prefer more space and less things.”

He gasps, the expression on his face changing from delight to stupor in a second. 

“Oh, you're one of those interesting people. You know… those really deep ones, who believe in non material things. How cool!”

“Thank you for your help, Arthur! So good to meet you.”

“Wait! I didn’t even get your name.”

“Charlotte.”

“Charlotte! How I love the name Charlotte!! You know, “Charlotte’s Web” is one of my favorite books. See you around, Char! Can I call you Char?”

“Yes, you may. See you around, Arthur!”

________________________________

I have my first class at Seneca College tonight. Flutters in my stomach remind me that I get to meet a lot of new people. The idea of having to introduce myself brings a lump in my throat and tears flood my eyes. _What is wrong with me?!_ I should be excited. I go a bit early because I want to find the classroom and check the bookstore for required textbooks. 

As I wander the long corridors, I start to realize that I am lost. I see a tall figure of a man at the end of the corridor. A force pulls me towards him at an alarming speed. I barely keep my balance. I cannot even tell what he looks like, but for a few seconds, the world stops moving, and it’s just us two seeking to eliminate the distance. 

“Are you all right, young lady?” A woman with grayish hair grabs me by the shoulders. 

“I am all right. I am all right. Thank you.”

* * *

I am the first one in the classroom, but I sit in the last row. A beautiful woman with the most magical red hair slams open the door.

“Is this  _ Anatomy of the Soul _ ?”

“I believe so.”

“Oh, good, cuz I don’t want to be late for the introductions. That will be the best part of the class, trust me.”

Her boldness is electrifying. I can tell that she has inner power and wit, and I would love to know her better. She is stunningly elegant, high stilettos, vivacious designer dress and a hint of makeup to highlight the depth of her eyes. Her hair is wavy, almost down to her waist. She plops next to me unapologetically. 

“Esther. And who might you be?”

“Charlotte.”

“So, did you sign up for the class to drool over Sid?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, never mind, you’ll see what I mean. Girls fall for him all the time and I am here for it.”

“I am sorry, but who is Sid?”

“The guy who is about to teach this class!” She looks at me incredulously. “On what planet do you live!”

Five minutes later, the classroom is almost full, mostly female students. Esther is ecstatic about that. She observes each student closely and then makes a snarky remark under her breath. 

“Oh, shit! I _cannot_ believe she's here!” She throws a spiteful look in the direction of a tall blonde. “She must be out of her mind to show up in his class”

In just a second, the room goes silent. I haven’t even seen him, when I sense his presence. Tall, dark, disheveled stubble. Tousled hair. His shirt halfway tucked in his jeans. He is dragging a worn leather satchel to carry his books (the entire library, if I must guess). His eyes pierce the room and look straight at me. I stop breathing. He moves on and looks at Esther with a slight nod of his head. They must know each other. 


	7. SIDNEY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PANDEMONIUM!!!
> 
> Please enjoy this foray into Sidney Parker's head....

(SIDNEY)

_ "Your heart and my heart are very old friends" -  _ _ Hafiz _

I don't know what possesses me to make paper copies of the syllabus, especially when it's easily accessible on BlackBoard, but when I walk into my office to finalize last minute lesson plans, I feel that it's an existential necessity. After all the uncertainty surrounding the fate of this course, I figure the less distractions, the better. And what better way to strike fear into the heart of millennials than to deny them their electronic devices for two whole hours? 

_ The horror. _

With an hour to spare, and a head full of evil teacher thoughts, I gather my laptop and course materials, stuffing them into the worn leather satchel that once belonged to my father. I decide to use the photocopier at the campus bookstore to avoid wasting the ink on my printer to make fifty copies. 

It occurs when I emerge from the shop twenty minutes later, my arms laden with far too much course material. I go still, overwhelmed by the distinct awareness of stepping into an unknown and yet, familiar destiny, into a moment that will inexplicably change all the other moments of my life.

I feel her before I see her, and I know without a doubt that I've seen her before. She's in the vicious thump of my heart, the cold prickle of goosebumps spreading like ash across my skin. I feel the magnetic pull of her eyes travelling the contours of my back as time stands still waiting for me to turn. I feel the heady rush of anticipation swiftly replaced by regret when I catch only her profile in the distance, her form shrouded by another woman's.

Even from where I stand, I can see that she seems lost. Unbidden, the need to help her rises like a tide inside of me, tugging me toward her as if we're tightly knotted on a similar cord.

_ Turn around. Show me your face. Tell me your name. Speak us into existence _ . 

I wonder if she feels this insane connection, if--- Lost in thought, my foot snags on the garbage bin outside the store, and I trip, sending papers flying. 

" _ FUUUUUUUUCK _ ."

I bend down to retrieve the wayward sheets, but when I rise, mystery girl is gone. Leaning back against the cool concrete wall, I try to calm my heart, acutely aware of how stupid I must look.

For the record, I'm a firm advocate of soul connections. I believe in them deeply. I write about them. I teach about them. I just never thought I'd experience one in my lifetime. 

Fuck me, I must be going mad.

* * *

Strong black coffee goes a long way to calming my nerves before I step into the staggered classroom. The space hushes excitedly as I enter, fifty pairs of eyes assessing my worth, perhaps wondering how long it'll take for me to buckle under the weight of their judgement. I'm a haphazard mess, but my class doesn't need to know that. I set down my cup, wordlessly handing the stack of syllabi to be passed out by the first kid I see.

I feel an undeniable pull toward the back of the class, an electric hum in my core. My eyes skim briefly over nameless faces until they collide with-- her.  _ Mystery girl _ . 

Though I've never seen her up close before, I can't shake the niggling sensation that...I know her. Whomever she is, she's absolutely beautiful. Clear brown eyes, fiercely locked on mine in a way that leaves me exposed, like a nerve. Soft brown curls dipping just below her shoulders, framing a perfect, heart shaped face and kissable red lips. Jesus, If I don't look away I'm going to need a cold shower.

It takes all my effort to shift my gaze to Esther, who looks terribly amused already. She gestures wildly toward the general vicinity in front of her, arms flailing like a dying bird, abruptly abandoning her pursuit when I fail to comprehend what she's on about. With one final visual sweep, I clear my throat and begin to speak.

"Please put your phones and laptops away. You won't need them today..." The collective groan from the class makes me immensely happy. 

"Welcome to _Psychology 301, Anatomy of the Soul._ My name is Sidney Parker. You can call me Sidney, one, because this is community college, and two, because I hate the pretense of being called something that I'm not..."

_ "Like professor?"  _

An obnoxiously feminine voice echoes against the cavernous walls. My blood runs cold. I'd hoped never to hear that voice again. Now I know what Esther was desperately trying to tell me, but what I can't figure out is what the fuck Eliza Campion is doing in my class when I haven't seen or heard from her in almost two years (good riddance). I look at her squarely when I find her in the crowd.

"Yes.  _ Like professor _ . In the future, please refrain from asking questions until after I've finished speaking."

"Yes, Professor Parker," she says coyly. "If you say so."

I don't dignify her with a response, choosing instead to shake her off by powering on with my intro, quickly explaining my office hours and the mark breakdown for the course. When I inadvertently steal another look at the beauty in the back, Esther's knowing smirk puts me firmly back in my place.

" _ 'The soul is the truth of who we are.' _ Who here agrees with that statement?"

Hands quickly begin to shoot into the air. Curiously, mystery girl's does not, and it makes me smile just a little. 

"I could say that you're right, but the truth is, _how do we know?_ How can we definitively prove the existence of something we can't see? The soul as we know it is not easily quantifiable. It's inextricably tied into self-awareness, personal memory, as well as our common understanding of human consciousness and experience..."

I'm in my element now, the words flowing off my tongue like honey, embracing me with the warmth of an old friend. I'm about to continue my spiel when I'm distracted by a young man, no more than nineteen, bouncing off the edge of his chair.

"Please, sir..." He moans, as if in agony.

"Yes...?"

"Jason. My name is Jason and I really need to use the bathroom!"

I bite back a laugh, determined to rise above the inevitable sniggers emanating from his classmates.

"Well, Jason, this is no longer high school. If you need to go, just go!"

He rises from his chair and bolts from the room so quickly I'm surprised he remains upright. The room erupts in raucous laughter, as I knew it would.

"Alright, alright, calm down you hooligans! That goes for you guys too...no hall pass necessary. I don't need to know when the urge strikes you."

I figure at this point, there's no point wasting more time on introductions. I walk to the board and write the following question in huge block letters:

WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE HUMAN?

When I'm done I lean against the board and stuff my hands into my pockets, shrewdly surveying the varied collection of people before me, young and old, mostly female, but all of them fixed on what I'm about to say.

"To understand the soul is to understand what it means to be human. My job as your instructor is not to give you the answers, but rather to provide the right tools, guiding you into your own personal understanding of the soul as it relates to you--"

"For the record ladies, he's  _ really _ good at guiding IF you can get him to relax long enough..."

"OH SHIT!," Esther exclaims loudly, looking between Eliza and myself before catching herself and mouthing "sorry." The class is in uproar, flooded with astonished whispers and cheeky looks from girls who now think they stand a chance with the infamous Sidney Parker. I grit my teeth, pissed at being made to look like a fool in my place of work. My head throbs as I spear Eliza with a hard, unforgiving look.

"This is the second time you've interrupted the lesson today. In the future, I'll thank you to keep your personal opinions of me to yourself, Ms.Campion. Please see me after class."

"With pleasure," she croons.

* * *

When the spectacle dies down, I have the students rearrange themselves into groups of five for an icebreaker activity. It's a welcome relief to no longer be on display, or the object of Eliza's cruel jabs.

"Your task is to discuss the question on the board. Think critically about what being human currently means to you...I'll be making rounds between each group to listen in on the conversation and hopefully get to know each of you a little better."

My voice is immediately drowned out by a multitude others, and I'm grateful for a moment of reprieve from what's shaping up to be my worst class ever. I don't know what game Eliza is playing, but I fully intend to find out. 

My expectations for this activity are ridiculously low. Most students don't take it seriously, and in two years, no one has impressed me with the depth of their insight. I've had students who thought their dead pets were reincarnated as plants, others fascinated with the supernatural, and even one guy who was convinced that we're stuck in the Matrix.

_ I mean, good grief. _

As I weave my way between students, I feel that odd electric hum again, growing louder as I near Esther's group. I know that mystery girl is staring at me, I can feel it in the furious beat of my heart. On a whim, I look up and smile at her, smiling wider when she blushes at being caught.

"Mind if I join you guys?" 

"Depends if I'm allowed to talk smack about Eliza," Esther says, grinning wickedly. 

"Not here, you're not."

"Ughhhhh, fine."

She motions exasperatedly the other people in the group. "This is Tom, Dick, and Harry. At least that's what I'm calling them...and this," she motions to the girl beside her, the only one whose name I actually care about, "is Charlotte."

_ Charlotte. Her name is Charlotte.  _

"Uhm, well, class is almost over. Who wants to tackle the topic of discussion?"

"Ohhh pick me, pick me!" 

I swear to God, Esther is incapable of taking anything seriously. It's one of the things I love about her, most of the time.

"Hmmm, let's see. At this moment, being human means taking my friend's class solely for the purpose of making fun of him for days on end."

"Ha ha ha, You're a regular comedian, Esther. Anyone else want to share?"

For a beat, no one says anything. Charlotte's face is thoughtful, her eyes skimming my face as if trying to work out something important. I'm losing hope of ever hearing her voice when, against expectation, she speaks. 

"I think...to be human is to have an undeniable connection with others through shared memories and emotions...to know your belonging place in the chaos of life..."

I swallow hard, quickly nodding and looking away. I feel as if her words have bared the essence of my soul before I was ready to face its truth. I make to rise, suddenly overcome by the need to distance myself from feelings I can't understand.

"What about you, Sidney?," she asks softly.

"What about me?"

"What's your take on being human?" 

My heart clenches when she smiles up at me tentatively, and I can't help smiling back. No one has ever been smart enough to trap me with my own question. 

"I think I'd need a whole lifetime to answer that question, Charlotte."

Tuning on my heel, I walk away.

* * *

The classroom is empty except for Eliza and myself. We've been arguing for five minutes about how wildly inappropriate her little charade was during class. I still have no idea why she's made an unwelcome reappearance in my life.

"I was wrong about us, Sidney. Can't you see that?"

"If memory serves me correctly, I told  _ you _ to get the hell out of my life when you slept your way through the English department..."

"A misguided mistake."

"And the philosophy department..."

"Sidney, really..."

"And made unwanted advances on my brother." Her eyes narrow, lips forming a hard line. "Listen, I don't know why you're here but I sure as hell wish you'd stayed gone. I don't need you in my life."

She takes a step toward me, causing me to step back into the hard edge of the desk.

"Why are you even teaching at this shitty college when we both know you don't need the money?

If I know what she's talking about, I give nothing away.

"Get the fuck out, Eliza, and don't bother coming back unless you're here to learn."

"Oh Sidney, where's the fun in that?"

With that, she leaves, slamming the door behind her. I let out the breath I've been holding, alone for only a second when the door creaks open again. At first, I think it's Eliza, but it's not.

"Charlotte. What are you doing here?"

_ How much did she overhear? Nothing, I hope. _

"Sorry, I forgot my phone. I hope you don't mind. These days I'd be lost without it..." 

I gesture toward where she was sitting in class, noting her small frown, the furrow in her brow. I watch her as she retrieves her phone, admiring her soft curves and gentle grace, looking away when she returns.

"You look as if you want to say something."

She looks up at me in obvious alarm, blushing deeply.

"Oh, no, no. I probably shouldn't."

"Please, it's alright. Say what you're thinking."

"It's just--- you were very rude to her just now. Eliza. She looked so shaken when I saw her leave..."

I nod slowly, overwhelmed with the impossibility of explaining my life to a complete stranger. As I look at Charlotte, I want to tell her how impressed I was with her in class, but anger wins out and the words come out wrong.

"Are you in the habit of making baseless assumptions about people and situations you know nothing about?"

"No, I didn't--"

"Do yourself a favour and stick to the syllabus. I've had my daily quota of drama."

As soon as I've said the words, I regret them. Her eyes grow large, holding back tears that I'm sure will fall as soon as she's out of reach.  _ Away from me _ . Without another word or look, she leaves me to wonder how the heck I managed to strike out with two women in one night.


	8. CHARLOTTE

(CHARLOTTE)

I'm practically running out of the building, tears streaming down my face. I don’t know him, but his words hurt. I feel so utterly alone right now that the pain is tenfold. A lonely car ride home. A short one too, so I have no time to calm my shaking hands. I bump into Arthur in the parking lot. 

“Char, dear, are you all right?’ He looks genuinely concerned and that warms my heart. Because, Arthur, the nearly stranger I just met, feels like the closest person in my life.

“I don’t even know…” I break apart right in front of him. I am not embarrassed. I can’t feign strength and optimism. I am at the lowest point in a life that feels surreal.

“What can I do? Do you want to stop by for tea? _Or, or_ , I can make you tea and bake you a cake at your place. I am a _really_ good cook. Also, I have extensive experience preparing comfort food. Trust me, I am no novice.” He says in one breath.

I wouldn’t let strangers in my home. Even though I barely know myself, I sense that I must have been a very private person. But, he feels like home. So, I let him bake me a cake with all the ingredients from the grocery store. He also boils water and makes me some black tea with honey. He talks incessantly about his brother and their friends. It sounds like they have indelible connections. This makes me feel morose. 

“Now, do you want to talk about it?” He sits down with a slice of cake and a large mug of tea. “I am a very good listener.”

“I signed up for this class because I wanted to do something new and exciting. I was really looking forward to it too. But I messed it all up. All I had to do is to keep my mouth shut.”

“Hmm. Let me see… Did you act from the heart? Did you speak the truth?”

“Yes, I think I did.”

“Then you are not the one to blame. There. All solved.”

I smile to myself. His ability to cheer me up in an instant is truly a gift. He is also so considerate and unimposing. We sit in silence for a bit, which is surprising for someone as chatty and good-humored as the Arthur I met. He finally speaks up.

“Do you know what I think? You need to meet my friend Georgiana. I have a feeling that the two of your will become instant friends.”

“Yeah? And why do you think so?”

“You have to meet her and you’ll know. Next time she stops by I can let you know.”

It’s late now and I am starting to yawn. Arthur looks at his watch and jumps off his seat.

“Gotta run! No more tears! I'll see you around.”

As I close the door behind him, I wonder what it would be to have a brother who cares about me as much as Arthur cares about his brother… Instead of heading straight to bed, I open my laptop and check my e-mail. Not that I expect to find anything new in an e-mail I created a couple of weeks ago. I nearly drop my cup of tea when I see an e-mail from Emberville News. 

_ Congratulations! Your story will be published in the next edition. We look forward to your contributions to our fiction stories section. Sincerely… _

Did I just get the part time job I was dreaming about? I reread the e-mail five times. I did. I accomplished something as the new Charlotte. This is my biggest accomplishment since I left the hospital.

* * *

_ Muffled sounds of a guitar fill the house. The notes travel around her as she draws a picture with pastels. There is a little girl in the picture. She holds a beautiful young woman by the hand. They are surrounded by flowers and birds. Suddenly, the guitar stops, interrupted by loud voices. The sound of a broken vase. And then, water starts dripping all over the picture, disintegrating its content… _

I open my eyes. It’s five o’clock. Time for coffee. I have to work on my next story for the newspaper. I also have to work on my homework. Three chapters to read and an essay to write. I am really not looking forward to returning after the unpleasant encounter at the end of the last class. However, I am fascinated by Sidney Parker. I am also really looking forward to the discussions he has planned for us. Based on the syllabus, it will be an intellectually challenging class, covering concepts that, perhaps, will trigger some memories for me.

I get a text from Esther. I gave her my number, but frankly, I never expected her to call or anything. She seems like the kind of friend that will be way out of my league. 

“What was Sid thinking with this homework?! 😒😒 Ugh…”

I laugh out loud just imagining her massive eye roll. 

“I am struggling through it now. Some challenging stuff…”

“I’ll just wing it! See you in class tomorrow!”

Just the reminder that the second class this week is almost here gives me jitters. I don’t understand why he makes me feel this way. I can just picture those piercing dark eyes observing me closely. His deep voice saying my name “Charlotte, what do you think?” I get a shiver down my spine. He must think me impertinent and naive for interfering in his life. His relationship with that Eliza character is none of my business. I promise myself to stay out of it and concentrate on the class.


	9. JAMES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, one person is looking for Char. She just doesn't know it yet.

(JAMES)

I have been calling and leaving her messages for weeks now until there is no room for more. She was so angry with me that night, storming into her car, tears showering her face. I have always been her protector. She’s always trusted me unconditionally. That night, in eyes drowned with tears, I saw that she felt betrayed. 

“How could you, James? How could you hide this from me!?”

I decided to give her some space, but then she hasn’t been answering any of my calls or e-mails. She is stubborn, to be sure, but that is one of her most endearing qualities. You cannot win an argument when she makes up her mind. She is fragile and strong, incredibly perceptive, but also a bit naive sometimes. She is tough as nails, but at heart, she's a softy, with a sweet, generous soul. I am sure she’ll do just fine on her own, but we have been inseparable for so long, that I am really worried. I gather all my courage and head over to her apartment to face the storm. She won’t forgive me easily, if at all, but I need her back in my life. 

I try by ringing the bell first. No answer. A passerby lets me in the building, so I run straight up to her floor. I ring and knock. Nothing. 

“Charlotte, it’s me, James! Please open the door.” 

The silence inside is troubling. I feel my pulse speeding up, a throbbing pain in my head. What is going on! I need to find her landlord. It’s that old man she has been telling me about, with bad breath and wandering eyes, but I’ve never actually met him.

“Young man, what’s this commotion all about?”

“I am looking for Charlotte. Charlotte Heywood. She lives here.”

“No, she doesn’t. She left a couple of weeks ago, just like that, out of the blue.”

“Wait! WHAT?? What do you mean she left?”

“She made up some sob story about an accident and lost memories or something… She does not live here anymore.”

“What accident? What lost memories? What are you talking about, old man!” I am losing patience, practically shaking his small body in a violent grip. I step back to take a deep breath. My heart is sprinting. I am shaking. 

“Leave me alone! I don’t know anything else. I didn’t believe a word she was saying. She was just trying to get out of her lease.”

No, that cannot be. That does not sound like Charlotte. Charlotte is methodical and thoughtful. She does not rush into anything. Security is the most important thing in her life and she will never give it up. 

“Tell me every word you remember, old man, or I will not leave.” I threaten, my voice dangerously low.

“She did not pay her rent for last month and disappeared for a few weeks. When she came back she said she was in a car accident and is suffering from amnesia. She made me look up her application and she found your phone number there, but I guess it was an invalid number. That’s all I know… She gave notice and left a couple of weeks ago. Never mentioned where she is going. Now, would you leave me alone?”

I am speechless. My heart is in my heels, digging a deep hole into the ground. If all of this is true she may be lost to me. Stinging tears push their way out. 


	10. SIDNEY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boy's got baggage...

(SIDNEY)

_"...the water was never afraid to touch you; even when you were at your most damaged and broken."_

_\- Nikita Gill_

When I get home, I feel like shit. Dropping my bag heavily on the floor, I pull my shirt off and head to the bathroom, grateful Arthur isn't home to greet me, or ask questions I'm not ready to answer. I really just need to be alone. I need to wash the day off, to get rid of Eliza's residue, and the stink of my own guilt.

In the harsh light, I peer at my reflection in the mirror, noting the bluish tint beneath my eyes, days worth of stubble I can't be bothered to shave. My gaze travels lower, flinching slightly at the web of scars slashed across my chest, faded over time, if not in memory. Eliza always had an uncanny knack for bringing out my insecurities, and tonight, I let her resurface every bad memory.

_Put a shirt on Sidney, no one wants to see that...No one wants to date a washed up university professor...._

Gripping the counter, I wonder what Charlotte would think about my imperfections. Would she run her fingers across my faultlines, seeing only ugliness, or would she perceive something.... _more_?

Not that I'll ever find out. The image of her tearful face haunts my thoughts, and I hate myself for hurting her with words she didn't deserve. 

Fuck this. I turn on the shower, quickly shed the rest of my clothes, and let the scalding water serve as my atonement. When I'm done, I fall into bed, drifting off to sleep before I realize what's happening.

* * *

_Eyes wide shut against the looming darkness. I see nothing but the metallic taste of blood in my mouth, so earthy it chokes. I can't breathe. Can't move, feet submerged in a watery grave. I'm afraid. So, so afraid of not living. Water laps against the window, quickly rising. A shadowy form, her movements strangely suspended through the glass._

_-Take my hand. Touch the water_

_-I'm afraid_

_-Don't be_

I wake disoriented, overcome by a fresh pang of guilt. Turns out you can't actually wash away your sins. Groaning, I cover my face with a pillow just as Arthur enters my bedroom. 

"Ohhhh, so glad I'm not late for your journey into self-despair. Pop Tart for the trip?"

"Why the hell not?" He drops a pastry into my outstretched hand. Reluctantly, I sit up in bed, two Lost Boys reliving their childhood with sugary rectangular delights. I chew slowly, weighing my words.

"So, Eliza turned up last night. Like, she's actually taking my class.... can you believe it? What a fucking disaster."

"Why though? I heard she'd left Emberville..."

"No clue, to be honest. Better the course had stayed cancelled than to have her in it. She always brings out the worst in me. It was horrible, Arthur."

I close my eyes against the memory of last night's class, surprised at how the only thing that really matters is the fact that I caused Charlotte pain. I'd do anything for a redo.

"Hmmm, seems like everyone had a bad night."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, just our new neigbour. She's become a bit of a friend....I think she's lonely, really. Anyway, she was in tears last night over some bloke who was an utter and complete arse to her..."

"Let me guess...you made her tea and cake and made all her worries go away."

He gasps in mock surprise, laying a hand over his heart.

"What are you, a spy? I'll have you know I feel very exposed, and quite frankly extremely vulnerable, over you knowing all my secrets."

My laughter echoes through the room as he rises to leave. He's only done the same thing for me a million times over. He's almost out the door when I screw up the courage to ask him the question that's been on my mind since I woke up.

"Hey, Arthur?"

"Yeah?"

"You ever...feel deeply connected to someone you barely even know? Or, I dunno, pulled toward something you can't understand but _...Jesus_ , I'm explaining it wrong."

"Absolutely." He grins widely. "Pizza...is my soulmate. Those fucking toppings throw me for a loop every time."

I through a pillow at him.

"Get outta here. And leave the Pop Tarts."

* * *

I can't tell you how many times over the next two days my fingers hover over the "send" button on an apology email to Charlotte. But I don't have the courage, and I can't forgive myself. What would I say anyway?

 _Sorry for being an asshat, please give me another chance?_ Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if she avoids me like the plague. 

I'm charting a slow path across campus with Esther by my side. I can hear her chattering animatedly in the background but I'm so lost in thought I have no clue what she's saying.

"You're a drag, you know. And don't bother denying that you were drooling over Charlotte the other day."

I can feel her eyes cutting into me, hot liquid burning as it sputters down my throat. Denial is my knee jerk reaction.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Whatever, Sid," she says softly, nudging my shoulder. "I might be daft, but I'm not blind. For what it's worth you deserve to be happy."

I sigh deeply, focusing on absolutely nothing in the distance. I don't want to bring up what happened last class.

"Even if it were true, what could someone like her ever see in someone like me? I'm...damaged goods."

"You'll never know unless you try-- Just look at Babbers! He tried to ask me out for a _whole year_ before I took pity on him and said yes..."

I laugh, remembering all the times she turned him down.

"He has guts, I'll give him that. But he doesn't have my baggage--"

"God, you're so dense! The point is he _believed_ in himself...and it's high time you did the same, dumbass."

Esther walks ahead of me while I struggle to keep up, wondering if maybe, just maybe, she's right.

* * *

Almost halfway through the class and I still haven't touched the day's lesson plan. 

Between stragglers and a not-so-quick recap, my patience is quickly fraying. Eliza's strange absence after last class' fiasco makes me suspicious, and even worse, Charlotte hasn't looked at me once. Even though I could swear I felt the burn of her gaze on my back, each time I've chanced a glance, her attention is decidedly elsewhere. I thought I was prepared, but seeing her smile at everyone but me feels a lot like rejection.

"Okay guys, settle down. Today we're starting right at the very bottom with the etymology of the word, _Soul_..."

" _Why??_ ," shouts a guy in the back. He looks vaguely familiar.

"Because words have power. Understanding the word itself shapes our perceptions of how human beliefs in the soul and its origin have changed over time."

I pause, propping myself onto the desk to have a better view of the class. 

"Let's begin with your own views of what the word might mean. Please-- no phones. Just throw your ideas into the universe."

"Why don't you just tell us what it means and save us the trouble?"

This time I pay attention to the guy in the back -- a twenty-something shit-disturber, with a smooth, handsome face. His hostile tone doesn't sit well with me, but the thing I really don't like is that he's been staring at Charlotte all night with a look that can only mean one thing. 

"What's your name?," I ask.

"Miles. Miles Campion."

 _Eliza's brother_. I knew I'd seen him before. His cocky smile widens, while I bite back a bitter laugh, thinking how naive I'd been to think Eliza would just leave me be.

"Well, Miles, how about I fail your sister and save you both the trouble of coming to class? Now, you have a choice: leave now, or stay and keep your pointless commentary to yourself."

That shuts him up right away, the smile sliding from his face like ice cream on a hot summer's day. He glances at Charlotte once more before leaning wordlessly back in his seat.

The breath whooshes out of me. I'm exhausted. For the second time in a week, I'm both embarrassed and angry that my personal history has affected my ability to teach a course that I'm deeply passionate about. I can barely contain my disappointment.

"Uhm, I apologize...to all of you...for so far, failing to meet your expectations. I suppose there's no point continuing with our discussion--

"Sidney, please. Surely we can still save the class?!"

That voice. _Charlotte_. My eyes lock with hers from across the room, and in that moment I believe that anything is possible. She bites her lip nervously, the small gesture driving me wild.

"I'll start," she says bravely, her brow knitted in concentration. "To me, the soul is like...touching water, you can never quite capture it. It's you, but as it ripples outward, so much more than you…" She stops abruptly, seemingly startled by her own words. "I'm sorry-- that's probably all wrong."

She falls silent then, immune to the heart that thunders in my chest.

"No." A foolish grin spreads across my face. "It's exactly right..."

  
  
  



	11. CHARLOTTE

(CHARLOTTE)

Sidney’s deep voice trembles in the air, the low tones vibrating through my body. For a few seconds, it feels like we are completely alone in a time vacuum, our eyes colliding, our souls touching each other. 

“Wow, girl, that was deep.” Esther’s whisper brings me back to reality. She gives me an impressed look. 

“I am sure she just Googled it before class.” Some girl in the second row chimes in with a high-pitched cackling. “She's just trying to impress Sidney into thinking she's  his soulmate or something.”

“Oh, shut up, unless you have a coherent thought to share!” Esther puts her down and the class explodes in laughter. 

“Enough!” Sidney is furious. I can sense the anger boiling in his blood. He is breathing heavy. His body tenses up. His eyes darken. “If you are serious about this class, you are welcome to stay. The rest of you, leave!”

There is dead silence in the classroom. No one dares to look at him, not even Esther. I sink into my chair. All eyes are buried down, looking into books, blank pages, empty desks, the floor… He breaks the silence, his voice calm, but sinisterly cold.

“Now, if you are still here, I expect you to take my questions and your classmates’ answers seriously. Do we understand each other?” There are some pretty emphatic nods, some not so certain. With that acknowledgment, he proceeds. 

“The origin of the word can be traced to the idea of belonging to water, the sea, more specifically. Why do you think that is?”

“Because it was believed that the soul resides in the water… perhaps because water is pure…” I venture an answer again and regret it immediately. 

He turns slowly towards me, observing me closely, admiration in his eyes, and, for some reason, I feel exposed. I decide to keep my ideas to myself for the rest of the class. That means that all his questions remain unanswered. I am afraid to face his probing gaze. He walks by our desk several times, lurking around for a few moments. His presence perturbs me, an unsettling feeling of closeness creeping through my veins. 

“All right, everyone, this is all for tonight. Don’t forget to complete the reading for next class. I expect more enthusiastic participation.”

I remain seated until everyone leaves. Sidney is struggling to collect all his things in his satchel. When he lifts his head, he finds me standing a few feet away from him.

“Oh, Charlotte, you're still here! What is it?”

“I, uh, wanted to ask you for some book recommendations. I find that just reading the assigned chapters is not enough for me. I crave _more_ …”

There is genuine delight all over his features, skimming his eyes and giving them a sparkle I have never seen before. I have only seen him tense and angry, but he is strikingly handsome when relaxed. He steps just a tad closer, my heart rushing to catch up with my breath. 

“I am glad to hear it, Charlotte,” The way he says my name. “How about this - start with _Man’s Search for Meaning_. In fact, wait…” He starts digging through his satchel. “I'll lend you my copy. Here.” He hands it over and our fingers brush. It’s like a burn. I remove my hand quickly.

“Thank you so much! I will be sure to return it to you as soon as I am done.” I start backing away. “Have a good night, Sidney.” My feet carry me outside the classroom with an impressive speed. 

When I find myself outside the reach of his overpowering aura, I start walking slowly towards my car, thinking about the class, everything he said, the mystery of the soul, my soul. I have been trying to avoid self-searching because the huge void in my memories frustrates me. 

“The star student, look at that!” A somewhat familiar voice startles me. It’s that guy from class - Miles something. I continue walking, ignoring his sarcastic remark.

“What is it? Am I not good enough for you? Are you one of those girls pining over Sidney?” He follows me, even as I start walking at a faster pace.

“Hey, stop ignoring me!” He pulls my arm. “I can be so much more than he can ever be.”

“Leave me alone!” I push him and try to get out of his vicious hold.

“ _Let her go_!” Sidney’s thunderous voice comes from behind. “NOW!” 

He grabs Miles’ hand and keeps it in a tight hold, looming dangerously over him. He is about to punch him, the adrenaline clearly taking over any reason. My gentle touch brings him back, as I instinctively interpose myself between him and Miles. 

“Don’t even think about coming back to my class!”

As Miles walks away, I realize that my hand is still glued to Sidney’s chest, where I can feel the booming beat of his heart. I am still shaking. He collects me carefully in his arms.

“Calm down, Charlotte. He's gone.” We remain like that for a few minutes, which allows me to regain my composure. 

This closeness, the security of Sidney’s embrace feel strangely familiar. And there it is. A flicker of a memory of a similar embrace comes to me. I can’t picture his face, but I know that I have felt protected in his arms, I felt safe. _Who is he and why did he not visit me in the hospital?_

Sidney lets me go, his eyes searching for confirmation in mine that I am feeling better.

“Let me walk you to your car.” He helps me get in and watches me as I drive away. His tall figure in the night, reflected in my rear view mirror, stays with me. In his arms, I felt safe for the first time since I left the hospital. But another feeling is brewing deep inside, growing in strength at an alarming speed, a serendipitous connection and attraction that pull me towards him with a magnetic force.

* * *

_ It’s a foggy, rainy day, the rain drops’ plip plopping on the window. The girl is crying, helplessly hugging her knees and trying to rock herself to sleep. She is hysterical, unable to catch her breath, desperately brushing her tears and the snotty mess off her face. She grabs a little fluffy toy and starts singing a sad lullaby through bursts of tears. A creak on the floor makes her lift her eyes and a half smile lights up her otherwise tortured face. She runs to the shadows of the room where she falls in his embrace.  _

I slowly open my eyes. It’s five o’clock, of course. I am still tired and shaken from last night’s events. I decide to break the routine and force myself to go back to sleep. A few hours later, I wake up again. This time, no dreams. I feel slightly more refreshed. 

I keep going back to that familiar sensation I felt in Sidney’s arms, trying to trigger a more precise memory. The fact that it happened makes me feel a tiny ping of optimism. I remember that Dr. Fuchs suggested support groups as a possible therapy. I was not too fond of the idea, but I feel slightly more courageous today, so I sign up for one that meets not too far from home. They have a meeting this afternoon, which I intend to attend. 

“Hey, Char! So.. Georgiana is coming tomorrow. Do you want to meet her?” I get a text from Arthur. I did promise to meet her, and, quite frankly, I miss Arthur’s smiling face. 

“Sure. What time?”

“Stop by at 4. We can bake scones or make homemade pizza… I am hungry just typing this!”

“LOL. Now I am hungry too.”

* * *

The room is rather large, a circle of chairs, neatly placed in the middle. There are two open windows, which bring the outside air and the noises of the city inside. I walk in tentatively, embarrassed by all the curious pairs of eyes.

“Well, hello, there! You must be Charlotte.” A friendly middle-aged woman greets me. “Don’t be shy! You are among friends here. Have a seat.”

She allows me to get comfortable in my seat and then continues.

“So, today, as we have a new member of our group, I suggest we kick off our meeting with introductions. Of course, I will be happy to start. My name is Paula and I usually lead the discussions.” I looked her up before I came. She leads this group in her spare time. She is a psychologist. She also teaches as an adjunct professor.

Everyone has a succinctly unique story to tell. I am amazed to find so many people suffering from various types of memory loss and amnesia. They give me a pass on the first round, but I promise to do my introduction eventually. Once I collect my thoughts, I raise my head and look at Paula. She immediately identifies my desire to speak and gently motions for me to do so. 

“Hello everyone. My name is Charlotte. I was in a car accident about a month ago… When I woke up, I had no memories whatsoever from my life before the accident. I also do not remember how it happened.” I hesitate.

“Do go on, Charlotte, we are here to hear you out.” Paula encourages me. 

“A rather stressful situation yesterday triggered a flicker of a memory for me. It was the emotion I felt that did it and I was astonished by it…”

“Some stimuli, including a stressful event, could trigger your emotional memory, and you may then experience an emotion from your past that you otherwise could not remember. That may then open the door to more memories rushing in.”

“I just wish I could replicate it.”

Everyone nods in understanding. I see a room full of faces willing to listen to me, emphasizing with me, ready to support me. And this brings tears to my eyes and a feeling of belonging.


	12. SIDNEY

(SIDNEY)

"Touch my soul and hold it tight/ I've been waiting all my life" - 🎼 (Tori Kelly)

_What the fuck just happened?_

I saw red when Miles laid his filthy hands on her in the parking lot. I didn't think-- I reacted, and I'm pretty certain I would have fucking killed him if Charlotte hadn't stepped between us. I should have known from the way his greedy eyes devoured her in class that he was up to no good. God, I should have never let her out of my sight. 

That _feels_ just about right, even if it sounds like I've gone bloody mental.

I stand rooted to the spot, watching Charlotte drive away until she dissolves into the inky night. My heart is a wayward creature that beats out of my chest, telling me to follow, to make sure she gets home safely. But I don't, sensing her acute need to process this alone. Who am I, anyway, but a guy who just happened to be in the right place at the right time?

I run a shaky hand through my hair, cursing myself for not being there sooner. When I think of all the things that could have happened, I feel anger rising again, like swift poison in my blood, making every breath burn. And then, another memory pierces my thoughts, the antidote to every bad thing. 

The way she folded herself into my arms felt like belonging, so right I don't know how I managed to live without it before. The vast expanse of that thought scares the hell out of me. I tasted her fear, and felt it slow against the beat of my heart. Even now, I clench my fingers against the loss of her warmth, wondering how I can find a way to feel it again.

* * *

I don't like this dream. 

_Everything is white, the clinical of whirring machines flooding my senses. Darkness offers warmth, but the light is stark and blinding, offering no escape. My voice doesn't work, because no one comes when I scream. I'm cold. Everywhere hurts. Water will drown you unless you decide to swim. I tell myself I'm ok with sinking until a warm hand takes mine._

_\- Touch the water, and breathe._

_\- Will it hurt?_

_\- Yes_

I shudder awake, sliding off my bed to sit on the ground, head bowed as if in prayer. My skin erupts with goosebumps in the wake of a late summer breeze that drifts lazily into my room. I need to rein in my breathing, tuck the splinters of unreliable memories back into the nothingness they came from. Only...it didn't feel like nothing, not this time.

Sighing, I get up to retrieve my laptop, hoping that throwing myself into work will help relieve my state of mind. The truth is, I have very little recollection of what came after the accident that killed my parents. I spent almost two weeks in a medically induced coma while my body tried to figure out whether surviving was worthwhile. When I woke up, everything had changed, and I was thrown into a completely new life without closure from the person I was before. 

I don't intend to get distracted, but it's Saturday morning and my notifications are blowing up from all the newspapers I subscribe to. It's comforting to think that the world is immune to the nightmares of a single guy in the dark. On a whim I click on the fiction feature of the Emberville News and begin reading. One of my students was featured a few years back, and since then, I've made it a point to keep abreast of the stories, which are often surprisingly good.

_She dreams of her mother's touch, gentle fingers brushing wispy hairs from her face, a sad lullaby in her ear. Sometimes, there's a boy, and she knows she loves him more than life itself. But mostly she dreams of water, falling into it as it rises, finding herself in its dark abyss...._

Each word I read resonates deeply, my heart strumming louder until it's the only sound I hear. I've lived this dream before. It feels too personal... ringing too much of truth to be fiction. With trembling fingers I scroll down for the byline, and damn it, I'm not prepared for the name I see.

_Ongoing Fiction Contributor:_

_Charlotte Heywood_

* * *

Over the weekend, I make plans to catch up with Babbers, but to be honest I'm not in the mood. My mind keeps drifting back to Charlotte, grappling with feelings outside the normal realm of possibility. I can't get over the inexplicably intense connection I felt toward her even before I knew her name. I can't fathom why everything seems better with her. And now she's dream-mapping my fucking brain in her stories, and I don't know how to process that.

"Girl trouble?" Babbers takes a long sip of his beer, smiling wickedly at me over the bottle rim.

_Yes._ "Nope."

"Uh huh, sure. There's definitely a girl."

Too late, I remember that Esther probably told him every single little detail and then some. 

_Yes there's a girl but I don't wanna talk about it._

"No, no girl, unless you're talking about Eliza crashing my class."

"Not talking about Eliza, Sid." He looks at me expectantly, but I take a deep swig and look over his shoulder, toward the door of the club. I want to go home and avoid this stupid conversation. 

"Isn't Esther supposed to meet you here?"

"Know what I think?," he asks slowly, "I think you've finally met a girl that you actually like and you're selling yourself short. You're scared shitless, I get it...but it's time to take a chance on yourself. You deserve so much more than...Eliza Campion, for fuck's sake."

I nod, but keep my mouth shut, trying desperately to sort my thoughts into coherent words. While I'm doing this, my phone vibrates.

**_Arthur: forgot 2 tell u I'm having a couple friends over. Pls say you're coming home soon...I made pie but there's no ice cream 😱. Let me know if you can pick some up._ **

Thank God for Arthur. His timing is impeccable, and I remind myself to grovel at his feet later for giving me an out. I quickly let him know I'll be home soon (with ice cream), and stand, gathering my wallet and keys. 

"Sorry Babs, gotta run. Kitchen emergency at home."

"Whatever, man. Sooner or later, you'll have to face your feelings."

"Yeah, I know. But today is not that day."

Little did I know that I'd be eating my words way sooner than expected.

* * *

Ice cream in hand, I let myself quietly into my apartment amid raucous squeals of laughter coming from the kitchen. I'm not surprised - whenever Arthur's around it's always a good time. By the sound of it, Georgiana is here...and someone else I can't quite place. 

"Arthur!" My voice is loud, piercing the noise. "They didn't have vanilla bean ice cream so you'll have to find a way to live with plain old vanilla..."

"I think we'll survive," he says, just as I round the corner into the kitchen. 

The room hushes as I enter. I feel it then, the familiar hum emanating from my core, my gaze travelling upward to meet her face. I know it'll be her before I see her, but confusion overrides everything.

" _Sidney_? What are you doing here?"

Charlotte's bewilderment is transparent in the way her eyes grow wide as she blushes. I lean back against the wall and cross my arms, trying to play it cool.

"I live here. What are _you_ doing here?"

"Honestly bro, did your manners take a hike? Charlotte is our new neighbour." Arthur pauses, looking between us. "Wait-- do you two know each other?"

Charlotte looks as if she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, while Georgiana appears to be enjoying the spectacle immensely.

"Erm, yes, Arthur. I'm actually taking Sidney's class at the college..." 

He looks at me murderously.

" _Sidney James Parker_ , if you are the one responsible for making this poor girl cry the other night, then I will kill you. And deny you food for a week. And then kill you again."

A ridiculous smile spreads across my face. Arthur can issue all the threats he wants, because the only thing I can think about right now is that Charlotte is in my apartment, and she's looking at me in a way that makes me want to kiss her senseless.

"Guilty as charged."

  
  
  



	13. CHARLOTTE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ICE CREAM.
> 
> That is all.

(CHARLOTTE)

He's smiling with his eyes. Not taking them off of me, he comes right by my side, his presence generating waves of electricity around us. Arthur is observing us closely, a curious expression on his face. He seems pleased and rather amused.

“I can’t believe you two know each other! You are trying to tell me you never bumped into each other in the building, the parking lot, the elevator…?”

Georgiana is enjoying this a bit too much.

“So, Char, tell me, are all the girls in your class drooling over Sid?”

I blush profusely, looking away. Based on what I have heard Esther say multiple times, all of Sidney’s friends seem to think everyone signs up for his classes because he is attractive. Being put on the spot like that is new to me.

“I hope not! His class is wonderful, unexpected, thought-provoking. It’s such a treat to have a class of this level in a community college.” I am on a roll, getting all philosophical and serious, which is not what Georgiana was hoping I will say. “I am sorry. I get too excited when I am passionate about something.”

“Did you hear that, Sid! She is passionate about you.” She jokingly twists my words. 

“All right! Enough about this. I want some pie and ice cream before it melts.” Sidney saves me from the embarrassment and I shoot him a thankful glance. 

Arthur and Georgiana go in the living room, while Sidney serves me a slice of pie with a scoop of ice cream. 

“Do you want us to join them?” He asks me, as he hands me the plate.

“Maybe in a bit. I prefer to enjoy my ice cream without any additional probing questions from Georgiana.”

He laughs quietly, with a slight tilt of his head. When he does that, tiny little crevasses form on the side of his eyes, creating the illusion that his eyes are smiling. 

“I cannot agree with you more! I hate it that all my friends are making fun of my class.” He moves just an inch closer to me. “But I love it that you enjoy it and find it challenging.”

I stuff a large spoonful of deliciously creamy pie and ice cream in my mouth and let a satisfied moan out.

“Yum! This is _so_ good! I wish I had an Arthur in my house.”

Sidney lets out a genuine snort, almost choking on his pie.

“You are welcome to him any day.” He puts his plate down and motions in the direction of my chin. “You have some ice cream here.” 

Before I can react, his fingers brush my chin. He is only inches away from my face, observing my features closely, his thumb gently sliding through my bottom lip. He lifts my face… cupping it with both hands.

“Charlotte…”

The loud roar of Arthur’s laugh startles us. He is calling us too. 

“Come on, you two! Hurry up!”

Nervously, we collect ourselves, avoiding direct gazes. He goes first and I follow shortly after. 

“Finally! What took you so long.” Arthur notices our awkwardness and gives Sidney a scrutinizing look. 

I hesitate on where to sit. Georgiana sees that immediately and scooches over next to Arthur, leaving me only one choice. So, I sit next to Sidney, my thigh brushing against his, the warmth of his body channeling through. 

“So, Char, why did you move to Emberville?” I hate that she always knows how to ask me an unsettling question.

“Erm, I guess I wanted a change. Plus, I wanted to be close to Seneca College so that I don’t need to do a long commute twice a week.”

“But don’t you miss your friends and the other people in your life?”

“I do, of course…” I feel the pit in my stomach; the tingling in my throat; the watering in the eyes. “Excuse me, I think it’s time for me to go.”

I give Arthur a rushed hug. I give Sidney a longing look. I truly wish I had an opportunity to spend more time with him. I wave at Georgiana and get back to my lonely apartment. 


	14. ARTHUR

(ARTHUR)

_"Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero."_ _\- Marc Brown_

If denial had a face, it would belong to Sidney Parker. Sid has a long history of being less than forthcoming about his love life, and I have a long history of teasing him mercilessly about it. Once, back in high school, he dated a girl for six months without once admitting to anyone that he liked her. (I know, right?). What was a comical tendency before the accident, became a full scale abdication from real emotion afterward. Admitting love also meant admitting that there was something to lose, and until now, I don't think he was ready to deal with that.

Nothing, however, can bring me down this morning because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that the handsome devil I call my brother is crushing HARD on the delightful Miss Heywood.

Last night, he couldn't take his eyes off her. Oh, he tried to play it cool, but he was awkward as fuck and couldn't contain that stupid grin on his face. As I go about making french toast, the therapeutic motions allow me to reflect on that odd question Sidney asked me a while back...about feeling connected to someone you barely know. After seeing him with Charlotte, I get it. He thinks he's so damn smart, but he can't fool me

" _Sidney and Charlotte sitting in a tree, something, something, i-n-g...first comes sex, then comes....love and other stuff..."_

I'm humming loudly as I work, fairly certain the delicious aroma will coax Sid out of his hovel in search of food. Sure enough, he makes a dishevelled appearance a few moments later, sporting the most horrendous case of bedhead I've ever seen in my life. 

"What're you mumbling about?," he asks suspiciously, rubbing his chest.

"Oh, nothing." 

Let's be clear, I'm a thousand percent sure he heard exactly what I said. He looks at me weird, but doesn't pursue the issue. Unlike myself.

"Soooooo, you and Charlotte, huh?"

He coughs violently into his coffee, blushing like a madman.

"No-- definitely not me and Charlotte! Are you crazy? She's my student!"

Ahhh, excellent. Denial, the first stage. Time to smoke him out.

"Dude, you realize that she's my age, right? Also, you're well aware that there are no rules preventing you from dating her, if that's what you both want."

He doesn't respond right away, but that's okay. I'm a patient man.

"What do you mean, " _if that's what we both want_?" Wait, wait, wait, did she say something to you?" 

Here we go, the second stage: feigned indifference. His eyes flash with something that looks strangely like hope, before he reins it in.

"Thought you didn't care."

"I don't," he grumbles, swiping a piece of French toast from the warm stack in front of him and taking a bite. "You're the one who brought this up, Arthur, not me." 

He's such a shit liar, it makes this entire charade so much more enjoyable. For me, that is.

"So you don't like her? Not romantically?"

"For God's sake, no! Can I eat in peace now?"

"Sure," I say, turning the spatula slowly in my hand. "Then you won't mind if Mrs. Hardy sets Charlotte up with her grandson? She told me this morning that she was waiting to see if you'd make a move, but if you're not going to..."

He pauses mid-chew, his jaw clenching unnaturally. When next he speaks, his voice is so low I can barely hear him. 

"Don't let her set Charlotte up with her grandson. That guy's a perv, and you know it."

"Does it really matter, anyway? Not like you care."

He slams his coffee cup down on the counter, sending hot liquid flying.

"It matters." He looks straight at me, his voice strained, hands fisted as if he's struggling with something internally. 

"Why, Sid?"

"Because I care....because I-- like her. There, you happy now? I like Charlotte Heywood."

"... _Romantically_?," I ask, just to piss him off.

"Fuck you," he growls, grabbing the entire plate of french toast and stalking away.

"So happy we could have this conversation, Sidney!," I call after him, smiling indulgently. "Remember, it's our emotions that make us human!"

I hear his bedroom door slam, its echo reverberating throughout the apartment. I don't know about him, but I feel great. Mission accomplished.

* * *

I guess I deserve what comes next. Karma's a bitch, and all that. 

When my phone rings that afternoon, I answer it without screening the call. _Big mistake_. It's Tom, and I groan inwardly because I hate talking to Tom, but I can't very well hang up now. Don't get me wrong, I don't hate my brother, just his occasional arrogance and willful ignorance of other people's feelings.

He's the reason Sid had to give up his job at the university. When he mishandled our parents' property development company a few years back, Sidney dropped everything, investing half his savings in an attempt to save both Tom and the business from ruin. Not that he's gotten much thanks. 

\- Is Sidney there? He won't answer his phone.

_Jesus, I wonder why._

\- Hello, Thomas, I'm fine thank you, by the way.

\- You know I hate when you call me Thomas.

\- Yeah, Thomas, I know that. Why do you think I do it?

He sighs so loudly I can almost see the vein popping in his forehead through the phone.

\- Well, when he gets in, tell him to call me back. It's urgent! I need his approval to move on some hot properties before someone else snaps them up!"

I'm about to make a quick escape from this conversation, when I remember something that's been niggling my mind of late.

\- Will do...Hey, Tom?

\- Yeah?

\- Have you seen Eliza lately? Eliza Campion?

\- Ahhhh, the lovely Miss Campion. Yes, Mary and I hosted her family a few times over the past months...I must say, Sidney really lost out when he dumped her. She was particularly interested in the company's substantial turnaround..."

My ears burn hot. Tom loves things that come in shiny packages, and Eliza is exactly that. Trust him to conveniently forget that she made Sid's life a living hell.

\- So, you thought it was cool to tell Eliza all about the profits you and Sid have made lately? Do you realize how messed up that is?"

"Now, now, I don't see why you're so upset. People need to know how successful we are! It builds confidence in our brand!..."

I listen to Tom prattle for a long time afterward, my heart sinking at the sheer breadth of his stupidity. When all is said and done, I walk towards Sidney's room. He was home all along, just considerably smarter about not answering his phone. I knock lightly, peeking my head through the door to find him sitting on the floor surrounded by piles of books.

"Hey, man..."

"What's up, Arthur?"

He won't look at me, probably still upset about this morning.

"Uhm, I think I just figured out why Eliza is back."

This time his sharp gaze meets mine, brow cocked in askance.

"Tom," I say grimly, watching his eyes grow wide in understanding as he connects the dots. He sighs deeply, hanging his head, and in that moment I feel sorry for him. 

Eliza Campion was hard to get rid of the first time around. Here's to hoping the second time's the charm.


	15. JAMES

(JAMES)

There is no trace of her. I tried the bank, but they refused to share any information with me. I went back to her landlord, but he ran so fast, I couldn’t catch up with him. The old man surprised me with his stamina. He was the last person who saw her, spoke with her. He's such a fool for not inquiring more about her accident. What kind of a deprived idiot dismisses you when you tell him you are suffering from amnesia?! Just the thought of it makes my blood boil. I clench my fists. I would punch him if I could. 

She never had many friends. Her childhood experiences made her weary of allowing people in. She never trusted anyone but me, and I betrayed her for the ages. In my defense, I thought I was protecting her. I really did. Otherwise, I would never have kept it a secret. I gave her little clues along the way, hoping she would figure it out, but she never did. And so, I decided that it was time to tell her. To think that I was the cause of her hardship. I wanted to hug her that night, but she pushed me away.

_“Don’t touch me, James!!”_

It started raining when she left. She drove away, the tires screeching on the asphalt, dust clouding up behind her speeding car. I should have never allowed her to get in the car that night. She was too emotional to drive. I don’t know what possessed me to let her leave. I should have followed her. I would have been able to protect her. I remember sitting there, face and clothes drenched in water, the angry sky lashing down on me, furious thunder lighting up, as if nature was taking her side, irate and deafening in its reproach. I picked up the phone and called her, hoping she would pick up, but she didn’t, and this is when I left her my first voice message. My words still echo in my soul.

“ _Char, you know that I love you! How could you ever think that I did anything to intentionally hurt you!? Everything I did, all the lies, were my foolish attempt to protect you. Please come back. We need to talk about it.”_

She did not call me back. She did not seek me out. And, in my selfish way, I felt betrayed too. Because the thing is, when someone puts you up on a pedestal you can't see the ground, and it hurts like hell when you tumble.

* * *

Charlotte had a magical relationship with her mom. The two were like sisters, holding hands, singing, always laughing together. Her mom seemed like a creature from a fairytale, long wavy hair, plum lush lips, smooth marbly skin, the most radiant eyes, and the gentle touch of a whisper. Charlotte has her voice, her elegance and her kindness. I will never forget a conversation I overheard between them.

_“Mom, what happens to the soul when someone dies?”_

_“The soul never dies, my precious girl. It lives on forever in the water. If you close your eyes, your heart wide open, and touch the water, you can feel it through your fingers. A tingling, a whooshing, the vibrations in the air…”_

_“Mom, do be serious!” Charlotte said, a sparkle in her eyes._

_“I am serious, my dear.” She caressed her hair, kissing her forehead._

_“But mom, why does the soul want to live in the water? Wouldn’t it make more sense for it to float in the air, over cities and oceans…”_

_“No, Charlotte, the water is pure. It can heal. It also protects you, as it lives all around you…”_

When her mom stopped being in her life, Charlotte lost that unwavering joy and curiosity for the world. She closed her heart to any emotion, desperately blaming herself. For years, I tried to fill the void. She recounted every one of her dreams and her mom was always in them.

* * *

I check the mail. Bills, more bills and a letter from Spain. I have not received one of those in a while. It’s like he knows something is not right. He has been sending letters for Charlotte for a couple of years now, but she refuses to read them. So, I have been piling them up in a drawer. I usually read them because I feel that if someone made an effort to write a letter and post it, at least one person should review its contents. 

His letters are brief and cold just like him; matter of fact; no emotion. I don’t know if he has always been like that, but it is hard to remember. I have learned to see him only through Charlotte’s eyes. Her eyes were full of fear, tears and desperation every time she saw him. She only remembers his roaring voice, the yelling, the unpredictable behavior. 

With an unpleasant taste in my mouth, I sit down to read his letter. I don’t expect to find anything new. His letters are pretty much identical.

_“Dear Charlotte,_

_I don’t know if you read my letters. I know that you never write back. I wonder if James gives them to you. The pair of you are usually up to no good._

_I like it here. The house is still as you may remember, even though the years may have taken a toll. It’s always sunny. You used to like that._

_You should visit._

_Dad”_

The stamp is from Lloret del Mar, a gorgeous landscape with pristine blue waters, rocks and the snug little houses across the Costa Brava. The mention of Lloret del Mar is probably the only trigger in Charlotte’s life that can bring back the unconfined joy in her eyes. She loved everything about that place. 


	16. SIDNEY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's pure Sidlotte slow burn. Enjoy!

(SIDNEY)

_"Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same." - Frida Kahlo_

I'm thinking about her again. Her and that almost kiss in the kitchen, and the ten other times I've wanted to scale the desks in class just to taste her lips. (It happens everytime she says something brilliant, which is always). I'm thinking about the way I wanted to lick the ice cream from the corner of her mouth, how it'd feel to pull her close and slip my fingers under her tiny skirt and along those smooth legs--

Damn it, I need to _stop_ thinking about her perfect lips and dimpled chin, and how two people who live in the same fucking building can avoid seeing each other for days on end.

I'm getting dressed for class, when there's an urgent knock at the door. I'm expecting Arthur to come back from the supermarket at any moment, so I don't think twice about my state of undress when I yank it open.

"Dude, where's your key--- _wait_ , _Charlotte??_ What are you doing here?"

Not that I'm upset, just surprised in the best way possible. I lean casually against the doorframe, drinking in her effortless beauty, the ribbed dress that hugs her curves just right, smiling at her no-nonsense gold flats. Belatedly, I note that she looks frazzled, and more than a little desperate. 

"Thank goodness you're still here! My car wouldn't--" She pauses mid-sentence, lips forming an astonished "o" as her eyes peruse my body. 

"You're shirtless," she whispers. "Why are you shirtless?"

I look down at my naked torso, suddenly aware that I was in the process of finding a shirt when the knock sounded. I fold my arms reflexively over my chest, which only makes her eyes grow larger. She opens and closes her mouth several times in quick succession.

"Shit! Sorry-- I thought you were Arthur with the groceries! Gimme a sec to make myself decent..." 

Clearing the doorway to let her in, l retreat to my bedroom, throwing on a plaid button down and grabbing my bag before making a reappearance. 

"Now, what were you saying?" 

_Before you were distracted by my man parts_? God, I really need to turn my brain on.

"Oh, uhm, well...my car won't start and I was kind of hoping you'd give me a ride to class?? And maybe a ride back?" She glances up at me shyly and my heart thuds oddly in response. "You don't have to, of course, but the next bus isn't for another half hour and I hate being late..."

She's rambling, and it's cute as hell. I step forward, placing a hand on each of her shoulders, my thumbs lightly brushing her neck.

"Look at me." I wait for her gaze to meet mine. "Yes, I'll give you a ride to class, but you owe me food after. Got it?"

She nods silently, perhaps uncertain about exactly what I mean. To be honest, I'm not even sure, only that if this is how I get to spend time with her, then I'm going to make it worthwhile. When we let ourselves out of the apartment, Charlotte hurries forward to hail the elevator.

While I lock up, I realize that, earlier, she couldn't tear her eyes away from my shirtless chest, and the thought makes me crazy happy.

* * *

The car ride to Seneca is relatively silent. We're still virtually strangers, awkwardly unused to the things that make each other tick. I switch on the radio in an attempt to diffuse the tension of something unnameable that cackles between us like livewire, breathing easy when Charlotte relaxes at the sound of the soft guitar music.

"I-- hope you weren't upset when you left our place the other night?," I clear my throat dubiously, not sure that she actually wants to speak to me. "You cleared out pretty quick."

"Oh. You noticed that, did you?"

"Pretty hard not to."

Her silence is charged with the weight of words unsaid, giving me the distinct impression that she's an intensely private person. Either that, or she has few friends, making me sad to think that she's walking this world alone.

"I guess...I was overwhelmed. I'm not used to being in the spotlight...it must be wonderful to have a brother like Arthur and friends like Georgiana...to have a family like that."

 _What's mine is yours._ The thought flits through my mind, too outrageous for me to actually voice. By this time we've pulled into the parking lot. Charlotte makes quick work of gathering her stuff and getting out of the car, barely waiting for me before she starts walking up to the building.

"You're welcome to them, you know-- Arthur and Georgie." I smile at her meaningfully. "I mean that. Might as well get used to airing your dirty laundry with those two around. Trust me, nothing stays private in their company...."

She laughs out loud then, with purely uninhibited joy, and damn it if I don't feel like I've just won the lottery. 

* * *

I've never wished for class to be over. 

Ever. 

But today, as the minutes creep by at a monumentally slow pace I wonder if punching the fucking clock will help time pass faster. When the two hours are up, my relief is short lived when I'm bombarded by a line up of students with questions about the upcoming essay assignment. I'm so frustrated, I want to bang my head against the desk while screaming about the many virtues of using email. I mean, seriously, I'm dying.

" _Fucking finally_ ," I mutter under my breath when the last stragglers have gone and I'm walking back to the car.

I look up to see Charlotte leaning against the car door as if she's been waiting for me all her life, my heart racing at the thrill of being alone with her once again. 

"I thought you forgot about me," she says hesitantly.

 _How could I forget about you when I'm pretty certain you're the only thing I've thought about for days on end?_ My lips pull up into a half smile, thinking about how Arthur would lay an egg if he could read my thoughts.

"Come on, let's get outta here. You still owe me a meal...unless you're not up for it?"

"Uhm, I didn't think you were serious." 

"I never joke about food, Charlotte." She tries to hold in a smile, but can't, and I'm completely ok with that.

Twenty minutes later, we're seated at a cozy little open air taco joint two minutes from home. There are no tables, only benches, so we take a seat side by side under the twinkle lights while we wait for our food to come. This late, we're alone, and it feels...perfect. 

"I didn't even ask if you like tacos," I say, suddenly self-conscious of my oversight.

"Its alright...I'm-- pretty sure I like tacos."

That comment from anyone else might have passed as a joke, but from Charlotte, it seems like she's genuinely uncertain of the fact. The warm light slants across her face, igniting the fire in her eyes, making my heart clench with a longing so intense it aches. Whoever this girl is, I want to unravel her mystery, to know her like I know myself.

"Tell me something about yourself, Char," I ask wistfully.

"If this is a game, can we start with you?"

She's deflecting, but I'm choosing to let it slide. The food arrives and we dig in. Until I take the first bite, I hadn't realized how ravenous I was. Turns out, lust is draining.

"Sure," I say nonchalantly. "I'm an open book. Ask away."

She takes a bite of her fish taco, moaning a little as she chews thoughtfully. If she moans again, I might have to kiss her.

"Well, I've been wondering...have you always wanted to be a philosophy professor? Soul theory is pretty specific...,"

I laugh wryly. I should have known this was coming, but upon reflection, I realize that I'm surprisingly comfortable with sharing this part of my history.

"God, no. I always thought I'd do something smart, like go into medicine or law, or heck, even teaching. But when I was eighteen...my parents died in a car crash. I was in the accident, too--"

I pause for breath. I don't mind sharing, but fuck, it's hard to talk about. 

"I was out of it for weeks after. I missed their deaths, but I relived it in my dreams every single night. There was no relief. When I woke up, life as I knew it had changed, and so had I. I felt damaged, and broken---"

"You're not damaged," Charlotte whispers. 

Her eyes are glassy as her hand traces comforting circles on my thigh. Fuck, she has no clue what that one small gesture does to me. I shift uncomfortably, desire rising hot and fast as the air around us hums with electricity. Her hand on my body is the only thing I can focus on. It consumes me until I want to pull her on to me and kiss her until my name falls like a prayer off her tongue, until she knows that she's the only one I want.

But I don't. Instead, I lift her hand and press it to my mouth, memorizing the feel of her soft skin against my lips.

" _You're a dangerous addiction, Charlotte Heywood."_

My voice is low, the words painfully strained. There's no mistaking my meaning, no place to hide from this need. Her gaze locks with mine, desire mingled with fear, and in that moment I know that she's not ready for… whatever this is. As much as I want this woman, and quite possibly need her, I'm not going to take what she's not ready to give. 

Sighing heavily, I rise, offering my hand.

"Come on," I say, gently. "Let's get you home."


	17. CHARLOTTE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte finds herself between the unknown of the past and the uncertainty of the future... Which path will she take...

The tension between us has congealed and you can cut it with a knife. I find it hard to breathe on the short drive back to the apartment. We barely look at each other. He opens the door for me and we head in the direction of the elevator. Once inside, it feels even more awkward. 

“Charlotte… erm… I hope I did not make you uncomfortable. I'm sorry if I did.”

A sudden thrust in the elevator sends me flying towards him. He grabs me firmly and, once again, I am inches away from him. His lips are so tempting, I feel an urgent need to bite them, to taste them, to feel them on my skin. I want to lift his shirt and caress him, flashes of seeing him shirtless coming back to me. The mere thought sends shivers down my spine and I blush profusely.

“Not at all, Sidney. You don’t have to apologize.” I look down, trying to evade his gaze. 

The ding of the elevator door saves me. Or does it? He holds it open for me to get out.

“I'll see you around, ok?” He looks me straight in the eyes, that delicious tilt of the head making me dizzy with unknown desire.

“See you around.” I mumble. 

I feel his absence immediately as if someone cut off one of my limbs. This feeling unsettles me. I don’t understand our connection. We are still nearly strangers, and I have not found the courage to share my story with him. But, him opening up to me about his scaring experience as a teenager gives me hope that we can share our sorrow. I lay in bed for a long time, thinking about him.

* * *

_A dreadful feeling of anguish overtakes her. She is sobbing angry tears. A thunderous boom in the background foretells of an approaching storm. He is pleading with her, wanting to hug her. She pushes him away, furious. Then, she walks away from him and opens the door of the car with force, slamming it violently. She starts the car and drives off, pushing the gas pedal all the way down. She does not put her car seat on. She does not put her headlights on. Her eyes are blurred from the tears. The tires screech on the wet asphalt._

_In her rear view mirror, she can see him standing, tall, but defeated. His curly hair is drenched already from the rain that is lashing against the windshield. The betrayal tastes sour in her mouth. As she drives frantically in the dark, the water showering over the car, her phone starts flashing. She looks down for just a moment. A loud honk. Headlights in her eyes. She swerves the wheel instinctively in the other direction, flying into trees. Silence. Blood tastes earthy. There is a throbbing pain in her head. And then, whiteness._

I spring from my bed panting. It’s five in the morning. This dream felt so real I know I just relived my car accident. His image is so clear in my head. James. His warm eyes seeking my forgiveness. His kind face full of regret. I remember him now. A strange feeling of guilt overpowers me. What if we were… together? How can I reconcile that with the intense feelings of attraction I have for Sidney? I pace around my kitchen. After two strong cups of coffee and a sweet orange scone, I text Arthur.

“Movie night tonight?”

“What are we watching? But, more importantly, what are we EATING?” This makes me chuckle. 

“You get to pick both.”

“Oh, such an honor! I am making pizza and we are watching _Mozart in the Jungle_.”

I immediately Google _Mozart in the Jungle_ and, by the sound of it, it’s a wonderful show. I need to get some groceries for the pizza. I cannot disappoint Arthur with lack of ingredients. Mrs. Hardy waves at me excitedly as soon as I walk out. Oh, here it comes, the long list of questions.

“Oh, Charlotte, it is so good to see you! How have you been? I barely see you out of your apartment. Any cute boys you may have met?”

“Erm, Mrs. Hardy, I am out and about all the time. I am well; just busy, you know, with classes and work.”

“Oh, you go to school and work. Impressive! Did you know that Sidney Parker, your neighbor, teaches in a college nearby. He is a fine young man. Handsome, smart… He just needs a nice girl in his life.”

I nod in agreement, hoping she will let me off the hook. However, she stands there, waiting for me to say something.

“I _have_ met Sidney. In fact, as fate would have it, I am taking his class.”

Her eyes grow big. Her mouth drops down almost to the floor.

“You are taking _HIS_ class?? Well, tell me then, is he a fine teacher?”

“Yes, a very fine teacher. It’s a wonderful class. Now, I really must go. So good to see you!.” I start walking away as quickly as humanly possible without raising suspicions that I do not enjoy her glorious company or her excessively personal questions.

* * *

Arthur’s knock is as loud and distinctive as everything else Arthur-related. 

“Sorry! Sidney would not let me be. He kept asking why I am coming, what we are doing, what movie we are watching, what pizza I am making…” He collapses in the chair, seemingly exhausted. 

“Maybe he was feeling lonely and wanted to join you…” I venture a guess. 

He exhales loudly and gets to work. His familiarity with my kitchen is astounding. His ability to find anything he needs in my refrigerator is even more impressive. I can never find what I need on the first try. 

“What is going on between you two anyways? You are both acting kind of weird.” He throws me a quick glance, as his hands continue working.

“Well, it’s just that… I'm in his class, and we found out we are neighbors, and, well, you're his brother…”

“That’s all?” I note a hint of incredulity in his voice. Before I know it, the pizza is ready. It looks delicious and hearty. He added mushrooms, green peppers, olives, tons of cheese, artichokes (I thought that was a weird addition, but, oh well), and a ton of other things. We slide it in the oven and get comfortable in front of the TV. He looks around approvingly.

“I see you have added some furniture. I love it! It means you are here to stay.” 

Such a thoughtful observation. He really is the most unexpected person. 

“I like it here.”

“Char, don’t answer this, if you don’t feel like answering, but… I can’t stop but wonder. When Georgie was asking you all those intrusive questions…” He does a major eye roll. “which is typical of her, you seemed distraught.” 

“I was.” I pause for a moment, measuring my words. “The thing is.. I had just spent almost two weeks in a hospital after a car accident and, uh… I was looking for change.” I stop there, not ready to tell Arthur that I don’t know who I am; that I don’t remember my past; and that I am living half a life, stuck between the unknown of the past and the uncertainty of the future. 

We spend the rest of the night mostly silent, except to make comments on the things happening in the show. We eat a ton of pizza, toppings and pizza sauce dripping all over. We laugh a lot because, well, _Mozart in the Jungle_ is hilarious. There are a few slices left.

“Arthur, I think you should take some pizza home for Sidney.”

“Sidney will love you forever for thinking of him and his hungry fit abs.” He laughs, but I blush because the thought of Sidney loving me gives me major goosebumps. 

Arthur gives me a massive bear hug and leaves. Just ten minutes after that I get a text from Sidney.

“Thanks for the pizza!”

“No problem.”

“What do you say to a little day trip to the lake on Saturday?”

“I would love that.”

And right there, I decide to take a step into the uncertainty of the future because I am tired of living in the shadows of the unknown of my past.

* * *

He waits for me by the car. I decided to wear a little red dress, the fabric caressing my skin with softness and my beige ballet flats that always make me feel like dancing. He has a gruff look, a beard perhaps two days old, hair in sexy disarray. Light blue jeans and a tight, fitted t-shirt, which I imagine myself taking off. God, Charlotte, hold your horses. 

I got him a to-go cup with freshly brewed coffee and he moans loudly after the first sniff. 

“You seem to know my weakness, Charlotte. Did Arthur give it away?”

“Maybe.” I say coyly, while I sip from my own coffee. “I am a coffee addict myself, you know. I never sleep past five in the morning.” My declaration is so matter of fact that he nearly chokes on his coffee.

“You wake up at five every morning. Why do you torture yourself like that?”

“I just can’t sleep past five. I keep having these dreams… They wake me up exactly at five every singe day. I wish I knew why…” As I say the words, I realize that I never analyzed this. I never truly questioned the weird precision of my waking up routine. 

I love his swagger in the car. He looks so relaxed and sure of himself. Since the accident, I have been a nervous driver. My shoulders and neck are chronically stiff every time I sit behind the wheel. I observe his driving mannerisms. He loves to adjust the rear view mirror every once in a while. He holds the wheel with his right hand only, the left one sitting nonchalant on his thigh. His profile is handsome and so manly. I can see his muscles contracting through the tight shirt. I realize that I am staring and I feel ashamed of myself. Isn’t that what Esther told me the very first time she met me? Women constantly objectify him. I give myself an imaginary slap on the wrist. 

We get there early, the sun shining brightly over the lake. The crowd has not made its way here yet, so we can hear the tweeting of the birds, the playful sounds of the wind in the trees, the gentle splashing of the water. I close my eyes to inhale. Deep breaths of paradise.

“What do you say to a boat ride?”

“A boat ride?” I look at him incredulously. “You are serious.”

“I am. Trust me, you’ll love it.” He grabs my hand and drags me down to the little pier.

We get in the boat and I look embarrassingly out of place. He starts rowing, playfully brushing his knees against mine. The whooshing sounds of the water bring back a strange feeling of joy. I run my fingers through the water, its coldness sending quivers across my body. 

“Touching water…” I whisper.

I open my eyes when I realize that we stopped moving. He is inches away from me. He runs his fingers through the water until our hands meet. Fingers entwined skittishly caressing under water, I feel a longing so strong that it seizes all the air out of me. The breeze flirts with my hair as he tucks it softly behind my ear, fingers grazing my cheek. I surrender. My lips collide with his urgently, unknown audacity propelling me into his embrace. Bodies clash into utter desire. His hands encircle my waist, pulling me towards him. My kiss is unapologetically bold. We are gasping for air. 

The boat starts tipping dangerously close to the water. He steadies me, never leaving my gaze. 

“Charlotte…” We are panting. “I think it may be safer for us to go back on shore.”

We both start laughing, the tension dissolving. 

“I think you might be right.”

Back on solid ground, we are sitting side by side, overlooking the lake, under a giant willow tree. We remain silent for what seems like an eternity, so I know that I need to say something.

“Sidney… erm.. about earlier…” I clear my throat. “Perhaps we should talk about it.”

“I hope you are not regretting that kiss. Please tell me that you are not.” There is a hint of desperation in his voice.

“No, of course I am not regretting it… Ever since I met you, I feel this magnetic pull, this connection… and I don’t understand it. It’s confusing…”

“Yes, yes, I know. I feel it too, so keenly. I thought I was going mad.” He grabs both of my hands and kisses them. “But that has to be a good thing, no?”

“I guess so…” I take a deep, long breath. It is time. “The thing is, I am trying to find my place in the world. I don’t even know myself… This is why I am so confused.”

He observes me closely, puzzled, hesitation clouding his gorgeous face.

“Sidney, I am suffering from retrograde amnesia after a car accident. I don’t remember anything from my past life. I have had a few glimpses of memories lately, but... I still don’t know who I am and where I belong. And then, you came along… and everything is even more confusing now. Except the moment I kissed you. Everything seemed to fall into place then…”


	18. SIDNEY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIDLOTTE + ARTHUR + 🔥🔥🔥
> 
> Also, thanks to my peeps on Twitter for a poetry discussion that graced me with this quote.
> 
> Please Enjoy!

(SIDNEY)

_ "A mirror has no memory" - Qabbani _

Charlotte's kiss burns on my lips, but her revelation rings in my ears, the sweet taste of her drowned out by something menacing. 

_ Amnesia _ . 

I swallow the lump in my throat as the enormity of her emptiness hits me like a speeding bullet. Of all the things I expected, it wasn't this. And yet oddly, it makes sense, the mystery of her collapsing in on itself in a mess of beautiful devastation.

The early fall breeze whips around us, carelessly oblivious to the truths just spoken. Charlotte wraps her arms around herself, the little red sundress a poor shield against the quickly cooling air.

"You're shivering," I say, wrapping my gray fleece zip up around her without invitation. She slips her arms in, and I smile at how it makes her look small and safe.  _ She's wearing me _ , I think, lacing my fingers with hers as we walk wordlessly along the beach, finally sitting down side by side in a shady spot by the shore.

Charlotte digs her hands into the sand, stretching her feet out to be licked by the water's ripple. She tilts her head up to the sun, casting the soft smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose into sharp relief. She's beautiful, and unexpected, and everything I never knew I needed...and she has no idea how fucking perfect I think she is.

"Sidney....say something.  _ Please _ ."

She's sitting beside me, close but not touching. I haven't said anything since her confession, and I can sense the desperation in her voice, the need for me to, if not soothe her fears, acknowledge her experience. I slip my hand beneath the warm sand to join with hers, revelling in her sharp intake of breath at the connection. 

"God, Charlotte. I can't...even imagine what you're going through. How hard it must have been to wake up not knowing who you are..."

She stares out at the horizon as I search for the right words. It's a hell of a lot to process. I think back on my own accident and the patchy blips of memory that were lost in the aftermath. Am I enough for her, strong enough to help her through this? All I know is that I want to be.

"After my accident, I dreamed a lot too. I still do. Sometimes I'm not sure what to believe..."

"Really??," she asks, hope teetering on the edge of her voice.

Yeah...it's like my soul is trying to tell me something my mind can't remember. I guess that's why I do what I do, really. To make sense of it all."

"And have you...made sense of it yet?"

I desperately want to give her the answer she craves, but the truth is that even with my memories mostly intact, I'm just as lost as she is. Instead I ask something that's been bothering me from the start.

"Did no one come to visit you in the hospital? Or afterward?"

"No," she replies sadly, biting her lip. "No one came. I woke up alone. I found my address on my driver's license, but my apartment was empty of anything remotely helpful. No pictures. No journals. A dead end emergency contact. I couldn't remember my passwords, and the guy at the tech store couldn't recover any of my files."

"Holy hell, Char, it's like the world was conspiring against you. Is that why you took my class, to help you cope?"

I grit my teeth against the anger swelling up inside me, furious at the thought that she had no one who cared enough to look for her. If she was mine, I'd never let her go. I would have been there. 

"Yes," she says simply. "I needed an anchor...but I found  _ you _ instead.....and Arthur, and all of your friends...I can't shake the feeling that this is the most family I've had in a long while." 

She smiles mischievously, nudging my shoulder, and I can't help smiling back as my anger dissipates. I squeeze her hand, still buried under the sand with mine, encouraging her to continue.

"I keep on asking myself, " _ Where have you gone, Char? Who are you? _ " I feel like I'm trying so damn hard to hold onto scraps of myself that don't exist anymore. Who am I without my memories, Sidney? It's like I've been erased."

She picks up a rock and flings it into the swaying water. I sense her anger, her frustration, her struggle with an impossibly alienating loss. A wayward tear trails down her face, and I don't think twice about gently swiping it away. My fingers smooth her hair, curving around her neck, bringing her face to mine.

"Hey....shhhhh...come here."

She looks at me in askance for only a moment before shifting over me, resting her legs on either side of mine. My heart thumps loudly as I skim the soft skin of her legs, slipping under the fleece pullover to grip her hips and pull her close. It feels natural, like we've done this a million times before.

"I need you to listen to me, ok?" 

Charlotte nods quietly, gaze locked on mine.

"So, maybe you like tacos, or maybe you don't..."

The ghost of a smile tugs at her lips.

"Maybe you find answers, maybe you don't. Maybe you remember everything, maybe you don't. No matter what, I need you to know that you're perfect as you are. And that...I'm here for you. To be whoever you need me to be."

My skin tingles as her palms connect with my cheeks, fingertips teasing my hair. Her warm brown eyes search my face before dropping down to my lips.

"Right now, I'd like you to be the guy who kisses me. All the other stuff can come after."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she moans breathlessly, her answer lost in the collision of our lips, tender and slow, as if we have all the time in the world to explore all the ways we fit. I graze my teeth against her bottom lip and when she rocks against me I feel it everywhere, in every sharp breath I take, in every strange beat of my heart.

Pulling away is the hardest thing ever. I rest my forehead against hers, gasping for air.

"I knew you were a dangerous addiction, Charlotte Heywood. Thanks for proving me right."

Her lips whisper softly against mine, and I bury my face in her neck, holding us still for a long while. I want everything with this girl, but for now, this is enough.

* * *

Charlotte falls asleep on the ride back, the silence giving me a chance to process the day's events. I wish that I could reach into her mind and fix all its fractures. In the darkness I can also admit how afraid I am that another man will be waiting for her should she recover her memories somewhere along this journey. But this isn't about me. It's about whatever it takes to make her feel whole again.

When we're home I lean back in the driver's seat, releasing a shuddering breath. Charlotte looks so peaceful that I hate to wake her, but sleeping in the car isn't kind on the body. She leans her warm weight against me on the way up, giving me a sleepy kiss before locking up and (I assume) tumbling into bed.

When I let myself into the apartment, it's completely dark. Arthur must have forgotten to leave the hallway light on. Like a blind man, I feel my way to the kitchen, craving coffee, or anything strong enough to take the edge off, but when I flick on the lights all hell breaks loose.

" _HIYAAAAAAAAAA_!!!"

A figure wearing a hockey mask and black hoodie jumps out and ninja kicks me out of nowhere.

"WHAT THE FUCK, ARTHUR!??!!!"

"How'd you know it was me?"

_ "How'd I know?? HOW'D I KNOW?? _ I'm going to fucking kill you. You scared the living shit outta me!!"

I punch him in the arm, which only makes him laugh uncontrollably. He's such doofus, and I kinda hate that I can't resist laughing with him. 

"When you texted me that you were coming home, I figured I'd wait up and ambush your walk of shame."

_ Walk of shame. I wish _ .

"Cool your blood, bro, I didn't score." I try to repress a smile, but can't, thinking of all the things we did at the lake. "She did kiss me though..."

Arthur's face lights up like a Christmas ornament as he fist pumps the air.

"Atta girl, Charlotte! I knew it-- I knew it!! She's totally into you...go on then, tell me everything!"

"It was great...the best...." I pause. "Did you know about---"

I break off, suddenly unsure if I should say anything about a story that's not mine to tell.

"Her accident?," Arthur offers. "Yeah, I knew. She told me a few days ago at the pizza party you weren't invited to. But I get the feeling that she only told me the half of it."

I look at my brother, taking in his mop of wavy hair and red cheeks, the guy who's always completely authentic. Who would he be without the memory of himself? Would he still be the same irrepressible Arthur, or would such an absence change him into someone I don't recognize? The thought leaves bitter taste in my mouth.

"I think she told me _everything_. She's been through so much, and it's...a lot. Too much, even," I finish quietly.

I look up to see Arthur regarding me curiously, his brow furrowed as if in deep thought. I shift uncomfortably under his sharp gaze.

"Let me ask you something, Sid. Do you care for Charlotte?"

"Yeah, I do. Very much." There's no hesitation in my voice.

"Then just...let it happen. Be present. Love is messy and chaotic and not fucking guaranteed. It isn't supposed to be easy."

"When did you become so wise?"

“Well, somebody has to be. You and Tom are hopeless cases…." He yawns, only half covering his mouth. "Anyway, I'm going to sleep. Being a ninja is hard work. Good talk, Sid."

He walks away slowly, leaving me to think about the immense gravity of a tiny word like "love", and how whomever he ends up with will probably be the luckiest person on earth.

"I'm still gonna kill you!," I call after him.

"Thanks for the warning, dumbass!," he calls back.

* * *

That night, I lay awake for a long time thinking about Charlotte. That just a few floors below me, she lays sleeping. I relive the memory of how we kissed, falling into each other with such reckless ease. I wonder what it would be like to make love to her, welcoming sleep in an exhausted tangle of limbs. I wonder....so many things. Finally, when my eyes can stay open no longer, I drift into restless, haunting dreams.

_ That clinical hum again. My heart rate increases rapidly and I feel sick to my stomach. I can't move, can't scream, there's no relief from the pain of learning to breathe in water. Except suddenly it stops and I'm on the outside looking in. A hazy girlish form in my periphery reaches out through the water to take my hand. _

_ \- This isn't my dream. _

_ \- No, it's her's _

_ \- ...I don't understand  _

_ \- You will _

I wake with a start, reaching out for Charlotte before realizing that she's not beside me.  _ Why would she be? _ The alarm clock on the nightstand reads 5 AM, but if there's something significant about that number, I can't remember what it is. 

I sit up slowly, stretching my tired limbs and reach out for my phone. I have two missed calls and a message from Nylah, which I must have missed when I was out of range up at the lake. It's weird for her to contact me on a Saturday. I swipe up to check her message.

**_Nylah: Sid, we need to talk. A complaint was lodged against you by a student. Normally, this would stay anonymous and be dealt with accordingly, but considering who's complaining...I'm pretty sure it's personal. Call me asap._ **

I run a shaky hand through my hair. God, it's way too early to be up.


	19. CHARLOTTE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're not ready....

(CHARLOTTE)

_The room is gloomily dark. The door slams open, startling her. His voice is loud. He is yelling. She sits quietly, hugging her knees. Her voice is like a whisper when she asks:_

_“Why are you so angry, dad?”_

_“Because every time I look at you I see her!”_

_“I am sorry that she left…”_

_James walks in. He plants himself at her dad’s eye level, defiantly pushing his chest._

_“Leave her alone!”_

It’s 5 o’clock in the morning. I jump out of bed to write in my journal. This was no ordinary dream. The guy with the kind eyes and curly hair from my other dream was in it. And… my dad was in it. He was angry with me because I reminded him of someone who left. My mom perhaps, because he said I look like her. I sit in front of the page. My mom left. Why did I apologize for her leaving? Did I know why she left? Was I the reason why she left? The thought of me being the reason why my mom left makes me feel sorrow, desperation and endless sadness. I can understand now why I've been reluctant to seek help. The bliss of forgetting did me good. The curse of remembering brought me back to a place of darkness. A mystery guy who made me cry before my accident. A mom who left. A dad who hated me. All three of them were in my life at some point. Not a single one of them sought me out in the hospital after the accident.

I am determined not to let this ruin my day. New Charlotte has a life to look forward to. I kissed Sidney Parker yesterday, and the memory of the softness of his lips makes me restless. I want to escape into his arms, burying my face into his chest, letting him hold me for eternity. I wonder if I should text him. I don’t want to appear too eager. The saving grace is Esther. She texts me to ask me to go out with all of them to a club tonight. 

“What should I wear?” I can feel the insecurities rushing in. I want to look attractive, but I don’t want it to appear like I was trying too hard. 

“I’ll stop by and we can pick your outfit together. Babbers tells me you and Sid are a thing. I need ALL the details.”

Are we a thing? What does that even mean? We kissed, but are we together now?

* * *

The rushed knock on the door must be Esther. She looks flawless, of course. Her long red hair cascading down her back, over the fit golden dress. She is wearing high black pumps and a sparkly clutch with diamond accents. Her eyeliner highlights the softness of her green eyes. Her perfume is strong, overpowering, a statement scent that announces her presence. I must be gaping because her laugh fills the room.

“Char, dear, I expect this reaction from Babbs, not you.” She measures the room in a second and forms an opinion. I can tell. “Now, show me what you've got.”

I open my meager little closet, ashamed of the strikingly obvious lack of glamour in my bedroom. 

“Let’s see…” She passes one dress after the other, clearly unsatisfied. “Girl, we need to do some shopping. You can’t keep a guy like Sid with this kind of wardrobe.”

_“I, uh…we… are._ ” I don’t even know what I am trying to say. 

She stops her closet exploration and looks me straight in the eyes.

“He kissed you yesterday, didn’t he?”

I nod, blushing.

“He's crazy about you. The minute he saw you, he was a goner. I don’t need more evidence. Now, let’s get you ready.”

After an extensive search in the deepest corners of my closet, she discovers a little black dress, one strap slipping down over the shoulder. There is sparkle in the fabric that shines from the light. She extracts a beautiful necklace from her clutch.

“I got this for you. Some Esther glam to remember me by.”

“Oh, Esther, it’s beautiful! You really didn’t have to.” My eyes fill up with tears. The gesture brings the memories of my dream this morning. Such contrast between the people who were close to me in my former life, but abandoned me, and those who entered it unexpectedly to show me nothing but love and support. 

“Now, we need to do your makeup.” She does my eye shadow, mascara, gloss… When I look in the mirror, I hardly recognize the girl staring at me. The expression in my eyes is mysterious with a touch of provocative. 

I put on my best pumps and a small golden clutch that Esther discovered in the pile of purses, and we head out. 

“So, where are we going?”

“This new club opened in the neighborhood. Arthur really wants to check it out, of course. Everyone will meet us there.”

* * *

The club is loud and dark, lights flashing to the beat of the music. It’s packed. We squeeze between dancing couples until we finally see Arthur’s cheerful figure.

“Char! Esther! What took you so long! We were wondering what…” He stops mid sentence looking at me. “Charlotte Heywood, girl, you look stunning!” He throws a quick glance behind me, and I know Sidney is there. I can sense the intensity of his gaze, burning on my back. I can feel the magnetic force within my body. I turn around slowly, feeling such anticipation, flutters in my stomach. 

He is handsome as hell. Shaved, dark jeans with a tight gray shirt. He cuts the distance between us in a second, curving his arm around my waist. 

“You are breathtaking, Char.” He whispers in my ear, and I feel goosebumps everywhere. “Come, dance with me.”

“All of Me” by John Legend is playing. He pulls me close, one arm around my waist, the other free to caress my hair, explore the contours of my back. I start breathing shakily, desire overwhelming me. I rest my arms around his neck, brushing my body against his with yearning so strong it hurts. We sway, moved by the beat, carried by the waves of bodies dancing around us. But it feels as if we were alone on a desert dance floor, drinking from a fountain of wanting.

His eyes inebriated by the music and the moment, he is singing the lyrics in my ear, his deep voice vibrating through me:

“ _Got my head spinning, no kidding, I can't pin you down_

_What's going on in that beautiful mind_

_I'm on your magical mystery ride_

_And I'm so dizzy, don't know what hit me_ …”

The lyrics hit me hard in just how much they represent us. We are both mysteries to be uncovered. Yet, it feels as if we have known each other all our lives. We have a connection that transcends boundaries and unites us on a deep, soul level. Our souls want to make love on the dance floor, as we move to the rhythm, intoxicated, panting, searching shelter in each other’s embrace. 

Esther and Babbers join us on the dance floor. They are so in sync with one another. It's obvious that they are in love, but it is a peaceful, wholesome kind of love. Their movements build a story of friendship, tamed desire, and playfulness. They giggle as they watch us.

“Hey, you two, get a room!” Esther laughs, as she winks at me. 

When the song stops, Sidney is holding my hand close to his heart, and I can feel its tumultuous beating. He is looking at me with angst and passion at the same time, as if afraid of letting go because I may dissipate into the air. 

“I am not going anywhere.” I tell him, to calm his beating heart.

“Yes, don’t… because I won't know how to bear it.”

We go back and sit next to each other, oblivious to the conversation and everyone’s stares and secret shushing. They see us, and they all seem to be really happy for us. But all this attention makes me uncomfortable. I don’t know how to handle the scrutiny yet, as it makes me feel vulnerable, unprotected and exposed. I fidget in Sidney’s arms. That is all it takes for him to realize what is bothering me. 

“Hey all, it’s been real, but we're gonna head out. I’ll make sure Char gets home ok.”

“Oh, yeah, you do that.” Babbers’ sarcastic grin reveals what everyone else is thinking. I am relieved that no one can notice me blushing in the dark.

* * *

We stand in front of my apartment door, not wanting to let go. I squeeze his hand tight, wishing he would come in. 

“Sidney, it’s still early. What do you say to a movie?” I don’t know when I became the brave one. 

“I thought you’d never ask!” He sighs. 

He follows me inside. His eyes immediately scan the room, the furniture, the picture on the wall. 

“Wow! Where is that place?”

“I have been staring at it for weeks now, wondering the same thing.” The pristine blue waters, the picturesque rocks. The palm trees. The neatly tucked houses…

“It looks like the Costa Brava from what I have seen in pictures before.”

“Spain??”

“Yes, I’ve always wanted to go there. It seems to be touched by civilization, but only on the periphery. So, it still has that wild charm and seductiveness about it.”

The word "seductiveness" on his lips provokes some rather salacious thoughts. All this talk about Spain and lust gives me an idea for a movie. I put on “ _Like Water for Chocolate_ ” and observe him closely. 

“Food and passion. I love it, Char.” He says playfully, and pulls me next to him.

As the movie progresses with the two main characters’ longing for each other becoming unbearably intense, his hand caresses my thigh, drawing circles, moving up… I release a moan, and that unleashes his suppressed desire. He grabs me and places me on top of his lap, my legs around his waist. He slips the strap of my dress down my shoulder, kissing my neck, lips hungry, impatient. I unhook my bra, and his entire body tenses up. Visibly excited, he struggles to take it off. I'm kissing him senseless, fingers stroking his hair. We are on the verge of losing ourselves. 

“Char, if we continue…I will lose control.”


	20. SIDNEY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A whole lot of explosions....💥🔥💥

(SIDNEY)

_"Souls tend to go back to who feels like home" - N. R. Hart_

Charlotte's fingers wind themself into my shirt, her soft lips pressed against mine, until I grip her hips and pull her further into me. I kiss her hard, sweeping my tongue against hers for no other reason than to taste her. She's addictively sweet, and I breathe her in, certain I'd be ok without air as long as I have her. Blood shoots through my body, and I harden instantly as her lips trail a path across my jaw.

"I don't want us to stop," she whispers in my ear.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, the only prayer I know.

I lean back, searching her face, achingly aware of the reckless friction of her naked breasts against my chest. I need her so badly it hurts. My heart thuds painfully, and I know I'm dangerously close to losing control and taking her against the wall, the table, whatever's closest.

Eyes never leaving hers, I skim the curve of her full breasts, fingers brushing over taut nipples. She moans my name, grinding against me as the need to taste her there overrides everything. _So I do._ Leaning forward, I close my mouth around her nipple, swirling my tongue and tugging gently as my fingers toy with her other breast. Charlotte threads her fingers in my hair, and I suck harder, wanting to know just what it takes to make her lose control. I want to bury myself so deep inside her that I don't know where I end and she begins.

I kiss my way up to her lips again, slowly, brushing her lips with mine. Her breathing is jagged and rough, heart thudding under my fingers. In the dim light, I smooth her hair, drinking in her swollen lips and eyes hooded with desire. Hell, I just kissed this girl yesterday and now she sits astride me in the dark, both of us on the brink of letting it all go. 

It feels right, but it's fast, and I wonder if she's done this before, if she even remembers. _Slow down,_ _Sidney. Pretend this is her first time, make sure she's ready_. I want to make her first memory of us making love something worth holding onto.

"You're beautiful," I say quietly.

In answer, her fingers slip under my shirt, heated touch travelling upward, stilling as they cross the web of old scars on my chest. Her brow furrows slightly, tugging at the fitted material.

"Take it off," she breathes, "I want to see you."

I swallow hard, fingers trembling as I pull the shirt up and over my head. Charlotte gasps a little at the sight of the fault lines slashed across my chest, stretching over my heart and across my shoulder. And then she does something that touches my soul. She leans down, placing a tender kiss where my heart ought to be.

"From your accident?" 

Her eyes are glassy, voice thick with emotion. I can't speak, so I nod instead, capturing her lips in a soft kiss.

"Char...are you ready for this? For...us?"

I can't find the right words, but I think she understands what I'm trying to say. I don't want to take what she's not ready to give. Her breathing is quieter when she leans forward to kiss my neck, where my pulse beats frantically just beneath the surface.

"I think...I'd like to wait. If-- you're ok with that?"

I caress her face, smiling. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good with that."

"Will you stay with me, Sidney? Will you sleep beside me tonight? I'm so tired of being alone..."

"What made you think I was leaving?"

Her face breaks into a smile, and I rise, carrying us both into her bedroom. She shimmies out of her dress while I strip down to my boxers, both of us sliding into bed at the same time. 

"Come here," I say, as if us in bed is the most natural thing in the world. Charlotte curls into me, laying her head on my chest, stretching her hand across my abdomen while I run my fingers up and down the curve of her hip. 

Soon, her steady breathing tells me she's asleep, and I'm fast to follow. That night I dream of nothing but a hand in mine, and a familiar voice telling me I'm exactly where I need to be.

* * *

*Two Weeks Later*

I'm muttering to myself on the drive to Seneca for my meeting with Nylah, almost two weeks after her original message. Apparently the issue was too important to discuss over the phone, but not pressing enough to prioritize over her ski trip. While I understand that my class has been off to a turbulent start, I've never had a student lodge a complaint against me and it rankles. 

If I had to guess, I'd say Eliza filed that complaint just for spite. She was always a first class bitch, I just chose to ignore it for a brief moment in time when my life was unraveling at the seams. Our relationship, if you can call it that, was my dismal attempt at a casual fling, to stave off dealing with the shitty reality of my life. Everything about us went against my very nature.

I grip the steering wheel harder, knuckles aching with the sheer force of exertion, thinking back on the day Tom asked me to let her stay with me for a week, tops, while she pursued her Master's in retail merchandising.

_"Sidney, please, I beg you...Her father is one of our biggest clients, and I-- can't afford to lose his business right now! A few days is all I ask, just until the university sorts out the mixup they made with her room..."_

One drunken night was all it took for things to get out of hand, and well, let's just say there was no way to escape the way we bumped uglies in the dark. I've never seen Arthur look at me with such sickening disappointment as he did the morning after, but nothing could match the depth of my own self-loathing. 

Still, I let it happen, my sense of unease growing as she sunk her claws in, high off the rush of sleeping with a professor... knowing I wouldn't tell her to leave when Tom's livelihood hung in the balance. I hated selling myself short, and resented her for using me for personal gain. I hated the fights, the tension, the wasted effort in trying to make a mistake work. But mostly, I hated the way I lost everything I'd worked so hard to earn, sacrificing it all for a brother who was blind to his own vapid mismanagement.

When I pull up to the Living Arts Building, I get out quickly, slamming the door in my haste to get this meeting over with. Nylah gestures me wildly into her office, on the tail end of a phone call with her daughter, by the sound of it. She ends the call on a strangled groan, shaking her head exasperatedly.

"Teenage drama?" 

Nylah's pinched expression softens a little as she shakes her head.

"It's always drama with that one. Honestly Sid, be thankful you don't have kids. It doesn't get easier."

"Oh come on, it can't be that bad?!"

My lips twitch at the thought of maybe having a child one day with Charlotte. _Whoa, where did that come from? Get a grip, Sidney._

"Amaya's sixteen with a lower back tattoo she thinks I know nothing about and now she's angling to...get this...get my permission for a lip piercing." She pauses, looking incredibly stricken. "I mean, how many ways can I tell her that writing " _flower child_ " on her body in indelible ink is a horrible idea?"

_Jeez, that's.....a regret waiting to happen._

"You're a good mom, Ny. Don't doubt yourself."

"I wish I had your faith in me," she says gratefully. "But let's get down to business. I'm sure you suspect who--"

"Its Eliza Campion, isn't it?"

Nylah looks up at me sharply, raising her eyebrows so high they almost disappear into her hairline.

"Curiously, no. It was her brother, Miles. Any idea what this is all about? I remember she fucked up a whole lot more than you a few years back."

Well, I'll be. Seems like Eliza's asshole brother holds a grudge. Still, I can't deny my surprise at the culprit.

"There was an altercation, first week of school. Several, actually. But after one class, Miles made unwanted advances on another student. I intervened..."

My blood boils just thinking about it, about all the things that could have happened. Gritting my teeth, I detail all the disruptions in class and when I'm done, Nylah leans back in her chair, clearly overwhelmed.

"You know what makes you a good teacher, Sid?," she asks softly. "You're smart, and dedicated, yes. But it's the fact that you don't need to be doing this. You do it because you want to, and that makes all the difference."

I'm stunned by her assessment. 

"What do I do, Nylah?," I ask helplessly. "She's back with an agenda and it's disrupting every damn aspect of my life."

She sighs heavily, looking straight at me while I fidget like a toddler under the weight of her gaze.

"You're lucky this came to me first, because I'm choosing to ignore it. Also, I'm going to request that either they transfer out or drop the class entirely. Neither one of them needs it...."

My sigh of relief is so loud it startles me, causing Nylah to shake with laughter. Until now, I hadn't fully realized just how wound up I was about the whole ordeal.

"You're a hot commodity, Sidney Parker. Though why anyone would want you is a mystery to me."

The image of Charlotte in bed flits through my mind, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling like a fool.

"You and me both."

* * *

When I leave Nylah's office, there's a spring in my step. I feel lighter all round than I have in months, so much so that I'm actually looking forward to my office hours before class. Coffee in hand, I swipe up to check my messages as I slowly meander the hallways leading to my office.

_Char: so, how did it go? Arthur's beside himself with curiosity._

Joy blooms in my chest, spreading its warmth down to my fin _gertips as I type my response._ She replies immediately.

_Sidney: so why didn't he text me instead?_

_Char: I might have been curious too_

_Sidney: were you?_

_Char: maybe. now answer the question._

_Sidney: it went way better than I expected. I'll tell you all about it after class..._

_Char: promise?_

_Sidney: maybe 😉_

_Char: see you in class, Sidney...maybe. 💋_

Putting away my phone, I creak open my office door to a sight that wipes the smile off my face. Heat rushes to my ears as a cold shiver pricks down my spine. My heart falls to the pit of my stomach, churning nauseatingly.

Eliza sits waiting on my desk, legs crossed provocatively, face arranged in what can only be described as a 'come hither' expression. She's wearing a dress that defies gravity, her makeup smeared on like war paint. Leaning back on her hands, she tilts her head to the side, turning up her lips in a way that makes me cringe.

"Hello Sidney. I thought you'd never show up."

"Why the hell are you here, Eliza?"

"These are your office hours, are they not, _Professor Parker?_

I run my tongue over my teeth in an attempt to bite back a million curses.

"Considering the hell you and your brother have put me through these past weeks, you've got a lot of nerve turning up here like you have any right...you know that your brother filed a complaint against me?"

For a moment the pretension slides from her face, like a mask slipping out of place, revealing the vulnerable woman she is beneath all her bitchy layers. I almost feel sorry for her, but then she speaks and I remember all the reasons I don't miss her. At all.

"I didn't know about that until yesterday," she admits. "He shouldn't have done that. But Miles....has a healthy sexual appetite, just like any other guy."

"And that makes it ok? Fuck, Eliza, what the hell's wrong with you? He could have actually hurt Char--"

"My God, Miles was right! You do have a thing for that stupid girl, don't you? _Charlotte_."

She gets off the desk and charges at me, so close I can feel her breath on my lips. I step back, somehow managing to keep a straight face, clenching my fists against the anger rising in my blood like poison.

"Watch yourself, Eliza," I deadpan, "You almost sound like you care."

I don't need to justify myself to her, and I'm certainly not giving her the satisfaction of knowing she's under my skin. Charlotte is twenty-five years old and more than capable of making sound decisions. Still, the less Eliza knows, the better.

"What if I said I did care, Sidney? What if I said wrong all those years ago?"

I look at her shrewdly, my eyes travelling over her pristine skin, her flawless figure the perfect shell for the emptiness in her soul.

"I'd say you're full of shit. I'd say you did me a favour the day you packed up and left, because God knows I was worthless to you when you thought I had no money."

"Was fucking me also a favour?"

My hand slams into the desk of its own accord, with such force that the room vibrates. As papers fly, Eliza's eyes grow large and she takes a step back. Whatever this is ends now.

"We're done," my voice is dangerously quiet. "Get the fuck out of this room, and stay the fuck out of my life."

She scrambles past me without another word, and when she's gone I sink into my desk chair, both relieved and uneasy. I stay like that, unmoving in the stillness for long moments, all thoughts of lesson planning forgotten.

An hour later, I walk reluctantly to class, still numb from my encounter with Eliza. The thought of seeing Charlotte is the only thing preventing me from cancelling last minute. The only thing keeping me sane. 

But when I look out into the sea of faces, she's not there.


	21. CHARLOTTE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Book of Revelations

(CHARLOTTE)

My heart is thumping loudly as I walk out of the parking lot into the building. I am eager to see Sidney after the text messages we exchanged earlier today. I'm feeling joy, which is something I had not allowed myself to feel for weeks now. Sidney’s steady reassurance and support has been helping me unlock little doors, and I know that, next to him, I will progress even further. The undeniable attraction and mysterious pull between us connect us on a deep level, so I feel like nothing in the world can shatter the little glass castle I managed to build around me in the past few weeks. Until, engrossed in my cheerful monologue, I crash into Eliza. I'm so angry with myself for not noticing her sooner because I could have avoided this encounter.

“Oh, look, Sid’s new pet student!” She mocks, her high pitched voice heavily exaggerated. “What he sees in you I don’t know.” She plants herself right in front of me. 

“Excuse me.” I shove her out of my way, but she follows.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, little bitch! Sidney doesn’t care about you! He sleeps with a different student each session. Did you think you're special? Why do you think he slept with me, huh!?” She cackles like a witch.

“Just leave me alone! I don’t even know you. And I don’t care what you have to say!” I raise my voice. This makes her livid.

“Aren’t you a even a little curious as to why he came onto you?! He's your teacher...and _you're_ his student, doll. I'm sure you've already slept with him.”

Finally, I get out of her path. I walk into a classroom in session, and she leaves me alone. Dozens of pairs of eyes are looking at me. 

“May we help you, miss?” The lecturer looks at me confused. 

“Erm, I apologize. I am a new student. I must be in the wrong classroom. “ I lie to avoid further inquiry. I walk out with a huge sigh of relief when I realize Eliza is no longer there.

I am shaking. The thought of walking into class late, the idea of having to see that awful evil creature again, and her brother, makes me nauseous. So, I turn around and drive back to my apartment. I don’t believe a word she said, but she managed to wreck the fragile glass castle I had built around me, and that exposed the frailty of my new life. It revealed the weakness. It lifted the facade. I cannot continue to pretend I don’t have baggage and history. I cannot sustain the illusion of a rosy new life. So, as I get into the elevator, I am resolved. I absolutely need to dig into my past and take a proactive approach. 

Before I dive deep into my past, I decide to leave things clear in my present. I take the stairs to Arthur’s place, knowing that Sidney will not be there yet. I knock slightly impatiently. As he opens the door, he immediately notices the gloom over my face.

“Oh, no, Char! Why are you here? What happened??”

So I tell him everything. I start with the day I woke up in the hospital with a blank mind. He lets me speak for what seems like an eternity. I finally end my confession with the Eliza encounter. 

“She told me that I am just one of Sidney’s conquests. She was livid, Arthur, such hate from someone I don’t even know…”

He is silent for a few seconds. Then, he starts slowly.

“Char, did she manage to incorporate doubt in your heart?”

“She did. But, Arthur, I don’t doubt Sidney. I don’t doubt my feelings for him. I don’t doubt our connection. I don’t doubt his sincerity…”

“What is it then?”

“She made me feel vulnerable. She uncovered the thinly veiled secret I thought I had concealed so well. The thing is, Arthur, I don’t even know myself.”

“Char, I've never seen Sidney as happy as he's been with you. Please don’t break his heart because of that vicious shell of a person. Please!”

I have never seen him so serious. His words weigh on my shoulders. I don’t want to hurt Sidney. I want to find a way to give him my heart without hesitation, without a shadow of a doubt, knowing that I have no commitments that can otherwise impede my full surrender. 

“I won’t. I promise. Please tell him that I don’t doubt him. I just need a couple of days.”

I give him a hug, feeling the heaviness of the tears in my eyes. I will make this right.

“Char, if he calls you, please pick up. If he texts you, please respond. Don’t let him wonder.”

I nod. I intend to answer his call. Back in my apartment, I start a night-long mission to unearth the tiniest of clues. Sidney said the picture reminded him of the Costa Brava. I spend hours googling Costa Brava in combination with my name. Nothing comes up. Frustrated, I just start browsing through the pictures of the charming little towns across the Costa Brava. And then, it hits me, a shot almost identical to the one on my wall. My heart stops. Lloret de Mar. 

A storm of memories invades. I am breathless from the experience. Me, as a little girl running on the beach. Long brown hair, my skin bronze from the sun, a genuine delightful smile on my face. I run into the crystal clear water, splashing, laughing, swimming. My dad is there too. He looks happy. I rush to my journal and frantically write every detail. The emotions felt so real.

Next, I decide to unbury my bank statements from the period around my accident. I need to find something. I must have gone places. I calculate the exact date of my accident. There is one purchase that night. I can’t believe I did not think of this before! It’s a place called MoVida and it appears to be just a few miles away from where I used to live. I will drive there tomorrow and check it out. I feel like I need to share my progress with someone, and I know Arthur will appreciate the importance of this after our conversation. I send him a late night text.

_ “Found something! Finally. Going there tomorrow.” _

_ “Good luck, Char! I hope you find what you are looking for.” _

Sidney did not call. He did not text. He did not knock on my door. I feel slightly disappointed. But, then again, he is always so considerate. I am sure he just wanted to give me some space, especially if Arthur shared what had transpired before class.

* * *

My sleep is turbulent. No dreams. I hardly get a few hours of sleep. I make a ton of strong coffee in the morning, grab some orange scones for the road, and get into my car. It’s almost lunch time. By the time I arrive in front of MoVida, it’s 2 in the afternoon. It looks like they won’t open until 3, so I get out of my car and look around. The place feels strangely familiar. The restaurant is tucked in a neighborhood in the outskirts of town, a deep green forest on one side. I remember now. The dream I had about my accident. It was here. This is where I got into my car, speeding away, tears clouding my vision. I sit in my car until they open. Taking a deep breath, I walk in. 

“Good afternoon, miss, would you like to dine with us this afternoon?” A pleasant young man welcomes me at the door.

I'm famished. Those orange scones were not nearly enough to provide the energy for the day. I hardly had any sleep and exhaustion is wearing me down.

“Oh, yes, of course. I'm starving.”

He leads me to a nice séparée and gives me the menu. The lunch menu is delectably curious.

"Someone will be with you shortly, miss.”

I decide on jamon croquetas, patatas bravas and garden paella. I have no idea how I will fit all of this food in my stomach, but it sounds so good, I want to try it all. The waitress is a friendly young woman, probably a few years younger than me.

“Did you decide on anything?”

“I want to try a few things. Are the plates the size of tapas?”

“We can certainly make tapas plates for you. This is how I like it too. Then, I can try more things.”

In about 20 minutes, some of the food starts coming in. It smells absolutely mouthwatering. I dig in impatiently, flavoring each bite, and that brings a peculiar sensation in me. I already eyed the desserts and I know I want to try the crema catalana. The waitress comes with my paella. It’s the most colorful and appetizing dish. Green, red, yellow, the vibrant color of the azafran. 

“Oh my goodness! This looks like a masterpiece! You guys must be very busy every day.” I gasp excitedly. 

“We are pretty busy. People seem to love this place. Most of our customers are regulars. Is this your first time dining with us?”

“No…” I hesitate, but, then, I’ve got nothing to lose. “In fact, I came here today because I was hoping you can help me with something.” I extract my bank statement from my purse. “I was here on this day.” I point to the date of my accident. “And I am trying to see if anyone may remember something from that night.”

She looks at the date and thinks for a bit.

“Let me check the schedule for that night. I will be right back.”

She returns in a few minutes. I am cautiously optimistic, a knot forming in my stomach.

“I was not here that day, but my friend was working that night. She will be here any minute. I can ask her to stop by and talk with you, if you are still here.”

“Yes, please, that will be wonderful.”

I finish my tapas and half of my paella, but I am full. I look around, wondering if I will find out something useful today. It is so hard to keep my emotions in check. Memories have been coming back to me, in my dreams, even in my sensations. For example, my taste buds know that I absolutely love this food. 

“Miss” A gentle voice startles me. “My friend said you had some questions for me.”

“Of yes! Thank you so much for agreeing to speak with me. See, the thing is, I was here, but…erm… I was in a car accident that night and my memories are fuzzy. I am trying to piece things together. According to my bank statement I made a purchase here… I, uh, know that I was here with someone.”

She looks at me closely. Then, her face lights up, as if she recognized me. 

“I remember you! You were having a heated conversation with your brother.”

My heart pauses. My mouth drops in surprise. Did she say I was here with my BROTHER?

“Are.. are… you sure?”

“Yes! You two were regulars here. He is such a charming man. Many of us have a bit of a crush on him. But, please don’t tell him!” She blushes abundantly. “He is always so nice. A generous tipper as well.”

“Do you know his name?” I ask in shock. She hesitates at first, looking at me with suspicion. “After the accident, I lost my memories.” 

“Oh, wow! How sad...I think his name is James.”

James. Is. My. Brother.

* * *

I leave my number with her, in case James comes back. I asked her to tell him I came looking for clues. She promised to give it to him. She was so excited to be the bearer of such exciting news. Sitting in the car, confounded, I realize what this means. I text Sidney immediately.

_ “Let’s talk tonight.” _

The drive back to my apartment is a blur. I have  _ so _ many questions. When the elevator door opens, I see Sidney, standing by my door. 


	22. ARTHUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter made me laugh and cry and reflect on all the good things in life...like Arthur Parker and why he's my favourite.

(ARTHUR)

"Half the time when brothers wrestle, it's just an excuse to hug each other" 

\- Unknown

When I hear the knock, my only thought is that whoever is on the other side of the door is going to have hell to pay if my chocolate souffle folds like a cheap suit. It's a delicate balance of both patience and culinary expertise...and if I'm being honest, I purposely waited to make it when Sidney and Charlotte were out of the apartment. 

What?  _ I don't feel like sharing _ . 

When those two lovebirds are together food is a scarce commodity. Vicious thiefs, the pair of them. They're always swiping my food, like that dumbass fox on Dora the Explorer... except there are two of them. Everytime his grubby fingers creep toward my plate, I want to yell, "Sidney, no swiping!," but what would Charlotte think of me? Then again, she's complicit in the whole operation. Maybe I'll invest in a fly swatter.

I mean, I'm practically starving. I'll probably fade away from hunger. My headstone will read " _ Death by Starvation _ ." Yes, I'm wearing my fat pants, but that's completely beside the point. I may as well tattoo "kitchen whore" on my forehead, because all I do is pimp out food.

_ Whoa, chill out Arthur. Answer the door, send the offender packing, and get back to what's really important. _ Namely, chocolate.

Except when Charlotte's tear-stained, distraught face meets mine, my priorities get a reality check. She's shaking so hard she can barely draw breath, so I sit her down and wait for her to regain composure. I wonder why she's not in class, when I know full well she left far enough in advance to get there on time. _Did she fight with Sid? Is that what happened?_ My mind rejects the thought immediately, considering how they slept entwined on the sofa last night. It was too fucking cute I almost barfed. In the few moments it takes her to speak, my mind runs through endless possibilities, each one less likely than the next.

She takes a few steadying breaths and unleashes the story of her past, at least the bits she can remember, with such a depth of sorrow that tears prick my eyes. My heart slides into the pit of my stomach thinking about how desolate she must feel dealing with the realities of amnesia. And yet, I admire her courage in facing the world head-on with no safety blanket for cover. Suddenly, I understand what Sid meant when he said her story was almost "too much" to bear, and like puzzle pieces sliding into place, her empty apartment, devoid of personal touches, also makes sense.

I swallow a million questions, letting her speak as I struggle with the enormity of her revelation. But when she begins to speak about Eliza, my blood boils over, churning spitefully. God, that woman is harder to get rid of than a cat with nine lives. I hate that she made Charlotte feel vulnerable, perhaps even derailing her newfound relationship with my brother... but I also sense that this story runs much deeper than a chance encounter. 

"If I were you, I would have bitch slapped her back to hell where she belongs."

The words are muttered under my breath, but Charlotte hears them and offers a tentative smile. She tells me that she doesn't doubt Sidney's affections or his motives, but I can see a glimmer of doubt in her wide brown eyes. Perhaps she's not insecure about Eliza, but she might be nervous about unearthing the lost realities of a past currently stuck in limbo.

When Charlotte says she's leaving to figure herself out, I want to scream that she can't go, that Sidney loves her, that he's better when she's near. But that isn't my story to tell. So, like a good friend, I urge her to be open with him. To tell him the truth when he asks. I can only hope she understands. 

When the door closes behind her, I lean against it feeling empty, and honestly quite stupid for not picking up on the subtle hints she's dropped in our short friendship. I'm worried for Sidney, scared that he's lost so much already only to lose again. I'm startled from my thoughts by thick smoke billowing from the oven, coupled with a high-pitched ringing from the smoke detector.

"Shit," I groan, remembering the souffle. What a fucking disaster.

* * *

I'd classify myself as a nervous eater. Nothing else can explain why I'm sat in the kitchen eating burnt hope with a side of ice cream. Sid hasn't come home yet, although he's over an hour late. He also hasn't answered his phone, and the last twenty seven times I called it went straight to voicemail.  _ What a little shit _ . I know he's declining my calls on purpose, though I can't imagine why. I'm not overbearing at all.

The front door slams open and shut, and I jump, choking on a spoonful of half melted ice cream. Sidney's angry footsteps carry him to his room, without a word of welcome to the guy who sacrificed a whole damn lot to wait up for him.

_ How rude. _

Oh, I know he probably wants to be alone to wallow in self-pity, but satan has other plans tonight.

I enter his room without knocking and plop myself on the bed, making myself comfortable. Sidney sits on the floor, braced against the wall with his eyes closed. Even in the dim light, I can see a confused mixture of emotions swirling beneath the surface of his skin, threatening to break free.

"Go away, Arthur."

His voice is lifeless, weak, as if he's lost his fight. That just won't do.

"No thanks," I reply. "We're both stuck here until you tell me what's wrong. Or hell freezes over. Whichever comes first, you decide. "

He groans, rolling his eyes, but has sense enough to speak.

"Charlotte...didn't show up to class." His voice is choppy, like small waves on a pebbled shore. "Esther said she saw her running from the building, so clearly she was there at some point. She hasn't called, hasn't texted. I know she's home because her car is in the parking lot and I could hear her moving around inside her apartment for the half hour I stood in front of her door like a fucking maniac. I don't understand what happened..."

He looks so bereft I almost feel sorry for him. But then, something occurs to me.

"Did you call her? Text her? Ask her what happened?"

"No," he says quietly. "Truth is, I don't even know what to say. I thought we were good, you know?"

I look at him shrewdly before redirecting my gaze to the ceiling, rolling words around in my head.

"You know, for such a smart guy, you're really stupid sometimes. Snap out of it, Sid! Did it occur to you, even once, that this might not revolve around you? Did you even think that Charlotte might need you now more than ever?"

His head whips up so fast I'm surprised his neck doesn't crack from the effort.

"You know something. Did she speak to you? What did she say?"

I take a deep breath and tell him everything from the Eliza mishap, to Charlotte's need to unlock memories of her past to feel more confident in who she is at present. I tell him that she doesn't doubt the connection they share, but she needs to leave for a while. I tell him to fight for the one good thing in his life (besides me, of course.)

By this time, he's up on his feet, pacing, running nervous fingers through his hair. Frustration pulses off of him like an echo in the dark.

"I should have known--- ughhh, why is this so hard? Eliza and I had a blowout today. I told her to stay out of my life and-- now she's ruined everything!"

"No. No, see, that's where you're wrong. Eliza might be the worst person in existence, but she only catalyzed something inevitable. Charlotte was always going to need to do this. For herself."

Sid looks at me sadly, nodding as the truth hits him. It's painful, but necessary.

" _ Tabula Rasa _ ," I say, to no one in particular.

"What?"

"You know, _blank slate_. One of your weird philosophy dudes said it. Maybe Heraclitus, or was it Beetlejuice--?"

"John Locke?" I can hear him laughing, just a little.

"Whatever." I give him the finger. _Smartass_. "That's what Char is right now. Her mind is blank, but she's grieving the absence of a self she can't remember. She can't write her future without knowing her past."

When I look at my brother, he's biting his lips nervously, an almost forgotten childhood habit. He doesn't say a word for so long that I kinda want to check his vitals just to make sure he's still alive. 

"Will you call her?," I ask, dreading the answer.

"I-- don't know," he admits, rubbing his hand over his heart in a way that tells me he's hurting. They both are, just in different ways. I sigh heavily.

"What are you afraid of , Sid?"

He sits easily on the edge of the bed, leaning forward to rest his face in his hands. When he speaks, his low voice is full of hollow sadness.

"Everything. Just-- everything. Mostly, I'm afraid that another man will be waiting for her on the other side of this. I'm afraid that I love her too much to let her go."

I shift my body into an upright position, so that I'm sitting next to him. Clapping a hand on his shoulder, I squeeze gently. I really don't know how to respond to this level of honesty.

"Yeah. Yeah, I thought so."

"Hey Arthur? Remember how mom always used to say that to love is to take a leap of faith?"

I swallow the lump in my throat. Sidney almost never talks about our parents if he can help it. The memory stings like a paper cut, deceptively brutal.

"How come she left out the part where you can fall so hard and so fast you might never recover?"

I stand quickly in an attempt to shake off the cobwebs of things I'd rather forget.

"Okkkkk, dude, enough self pity. I made a souffle, and you're going to eat it or so help me God, I'll drown you in coffee."

"How'd it turn out this time?," he asks. "I hope it's chocolate because that creme de menthe one you made was nasty." 

He rises to follow me out of the room, pretending to gag. I'm relieved he's making an effort to deal with all of this as calmly as possible, though I'm pretty sure he doesn't care about dessert, not when other things weigh heavily on his mind. 

"Hmmm, what? Oh, it came out perfectly..." 

Perfectly deflated, that is. Just like today. 


	23. SIDNEY

(SIDNEY)

"People are rivers, ever changing, ever flowing. They will disappear with everything you put inside them." - Nikita Gill

It's finally happened. 

Arthur's poisoned me with whatever chocolate-flavoured monstrosity this is, and my stomach is staging a revolt. I'd complain, but I'm too exhausted and sad and hurt to care. Still, I chew through hardened bits of souffle replaying Arthur's advice in my head, hating myself for being selfish enough to think about what I stand to lose, rather than what Charlotte stands to gain from all this.

"Wow. Must be really bad if you have nothing to say about the sheer amount of sweetened crap you're eating right now."

I shrug my shoulders, staring right at him as I lick the spoon.

"What can I say? A crappy day deserves crappy dessert...." I can feel the prickly points of his judgement on my skin, and it puts me to shame. "Listen, I know you want me to call her, or--"

"Yeah, I do," he interrupts. "But you're a grown ass man, and I can't actually make you do anything."

I know that he's right, but sometimes it's hard to make your heart believe something your mind already knows.

"She told _you_ , Arthur." My voice is quiet, carefully neutral, but my words bely the hurt underneath."Why'd she tell you, and not me?"

"You're overthinking this."

"Yeah, maybe...but she didn't call me either. And that makes me think that she doesn't trust me, especially after Eliza had her say."

I peer at Arthur in my periphery. It's not lost on me that he's a much better friend than I could ever hope to be. He doesn't have to talk me through this. In fact, right now I wish he wouldn't. Tomorrow is for rising above. Tonight, I need to feel this out.

Silently, I push off from the bar stool and put my dishes in the sink. 

"I'm heading to bed," I say. "Thanks for... this." I gesture at the space between us.

Arthur looks up at me, unnaturally serious, his eyes searching mine as he struggles for words.

"Sid, reach out to her. Please? Just---- say something, anything. She needs you to be your best self."

I nod, but don't say a word as I walk away.

* * *

I mean to send a text. Really, I do. Instead, I stare at my phone for hours in the dark, hoping for a sign, a word, hell-- even a smoke signal from Charlotte. When none of that happens, I will my rebellious fingers to type something that'll bridge the gap between us. But my hands are traitors to my heart, and the only thing I'm successful at is falling asleep before I fall apart.

That night the dreams return. Whirring and white, and altogether different from the ones that came before.

_White room, white walls. Where am I? What is this place that screams of pain but feels like nothing? I want my hospital bed, a familiar hand in mine telling me that I'm alive. I don't want to let go, but I'm slipping away. In the background, a high-pitched mechanical hum that brings me to my knees. The ground is water, seeping, swaying, holding me tight._

_\- Look inside._

_\- No_

_\- Look inside. Embrace yourself._

_\- No, I'm not ready._

What the fuck was that? I wake, hardly able to draw breath. That wasn't a dream, it was a memory I don't know how to make sense of. I scramble off bed, only to barge into Arthur's room.

"Hey, wake up!" I jostle his slumbering form. "Arthur, come on, wake up, I need to ask you something!!"

"Fuck off," he grumbles sleepily. "Leammme 'lone."

I figure he's probably not going to sit up, so I begin speaking, pretty certain that he's listening. My heart is going nuts trying to piece together fragmented recollections.

"I know this sounds crazy, but did I flatline when I was in the hospital all those years ago? I've been having these dreams, and I feel like there's something I need to...grasp. Something important. "

The need to know the truth is suddenly imperative. Arthur's body stills, but his shocked face peeks out from under the blankets.

"Jesus, you remember that? It was bad. Really fucking bad." His voice is hushed, his face bloodless. "Your lungs were... filled with water from the accident and you couldn't breathe. God, you couldn't breathe and we almost lost you."

"Shit. Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Sid, we'd just lost mom and dad. And we were so fucking scared we'd lose you too. So when you pulled through..."

"...you didn't want to relive the past. Yeah, I get it." 

And I do. To this day, I haven't visited my parents' grave, or paid my respects...but maybe, it's time. Maybe I'm ready?

"Thanks Arthur, I say quietly.

"Don't wake me up again, dumbass, or I will _end_ you."

He smiles and I know he's deflecting, but that's okay. I'm almost out the door when something else occurs to me.

"Hey Arthur, one more thing."

"What?," he groans.

"Did anyone visit me in the hospital? My only real memories are of the day I left."

"Lots of people came and went. A lot of your high school buddies from what I recall. Although, I wasn't there often enough to be a reliable source. Diana was afraid to let me out of the house. "

I'm a little disappointed by his answer, although I don't know exactly what I was expecting him to say.

"Good thing you live with me, huh?"

"I thought I was a squatter."

"You are." _But I can't live without you, bro._

"Hey Sid?" I can hear the smile in his voice. "Get the fuck out of my room. Please."

My laughter rings through the room long moments after I'm gone.

* * *

I take the next day or so to sort out my feelings. After speaking with Arthur, I finally get how important it is for Charlotte to reclaim herself. Pretending that she's an island, adrift from her past life helps no one. I understand how scary the blanks are, how devastating it must be to grieve the absence of everything that defines you.

Taking out my phone, I find the courage to type out a long overdue message.

_Hey Char. I'm sorry for not reaching out sooner. Wherever you are, I hope you're well. Wherever this journey takes you, I support you. Whenever you need me, I'm here. Miss you a million._

When I hit send, I get a "failure to deliver" notice. I try again several (hundred) times, with the same result. Her phone could be off, or dead, or out of range....I try to keep my mind from thinking the worst, but it's hard.

When my phone pings early that afternoon, I know it's her. She wants to talk later. I don't know what to make of the message, whether I should be happy she's coming home, or wary of us perhaps coming to an end.

I don't wait for the evening to come. Within ten minutes, I'm sitting outside of Charlotte's door, waiting to see her again, to listen, to be whomever she needs me to be. Hours later, the familiar staccato of her soft footsteps approach. I rise from my perch, wanting to reach out, to touch her, but I don't.

"Hey," she says, tilting her head to look up at me in a way that makes me want to kiss her.

Her hair is loosely pulled back into a ponytail, skin radiant without a stitch of makeup. And her little leather skirt...makes my blood pulse so hot that I have to clench my fists just to control the urge to touch her.

"Hey."

"You're here."

"Of course I'm here." I reach out to tuck a stray tendril behind her ear, unable to resist caressing her face. "Where else would I be? I tried to message you..."

"I know." She holds up her phone. "I just got it on the way up."

She smiles up at me then, stepping into my arms, filling up the dark ache deep within. My arms circle around her, holding her close for a long time until she steps away, fishing for something in her bag.

"Come on," she says, fiddling with the lock. "Let's talk."

Taking my hand, she leads me inside her apartment, kicking the door closed behind us.


	24. CHARLOTTE

(CHARLOTTE)

"Charlotte, I think I owe you an apology…I, uh…can't believe the things Eliza said to you. I only wish I could have been there to…”

“Sidney, you don’t need to apologize for her.” I don’t expect him to apologize for what Eliza said, but I wish he would tell me why he didn't call after I failed to show up for class. 

I'm silent, searching for the right words, trying to compose an elaborate speech in my head. I don’t know where to start. He looks at me with concern, his dark brown eyes probing for hints across my face. I suspect that I appear a bit distant. My arms are crossed in front of my chest, masking my insecurity. 

“Charlotte, something's bothering you…”

“Yes...why did you not look for me after I didn't come to class? As the night and then day went on, it reminded me of the feeling I had in the hospital…the despair, the loneliness. No one came, Sidney.” Tears are flooding my eyes, uninvited. 

He takes a tentative step forward, but then hesitates.

“I'm sorry, Charlotte. I guess…I was dealing with my own insecurities. Why did you go to Arthur and not me? Do you not trust me?”

“Of course I trust you! I just had to tell someone, and you were in class. Arthur is such a good listener. As soon as I started, I had to tell him my full story. He deserved to know…”

“Yes, yes, of course. He is a good listener, isn’t he…” He mutters thoughtfully. “So, if I were not in class you would have come to me then?”

“After the Eliza encounter all I wanted to do is to seek shelter in your arms.”

Hope shines across his entire face, giving it a particular glow. His full lips form a smile, and his eyes glimmer with remorse. 

“It’s still not too late for that, is it?”

I shake my head.

“It’s never too late for that.”

He takes my hand and leads me to my bed.

“Come.”

I lay in his arms, while he strokes my hair. His warmth gives me goosebumps. His touch electrifies. I know that I will not be able to resist him tonight. I don’t have any doubts clouding my judgment, but he doesn’t know that yet.

“Sidney…apparently, I have a brother.”

He rises abruptly.

“What do you mean? Did you find your brother today??”

So, I tell him about my frenzy last night and my most unusual experience this afternoon. I tell him about Lloret de Mar, my memories of dad, my most astonishing finding in the restaurant, and the dreams I had with James.

“It all makes sense now. In my dreams, he was always protecting me, consoling me… We had a fight the night of my accident, you know. This explains why he did not visit me in the hospital perhaps…”

“Charlotte, what if she's wrong? What if…” I put my fingers on his lips to stop him from completing the sentence. The thought of the waitress being wrong crossed my mind, of course. But I have a distinct conviction about what she said. James did not feel like a romantic interest in my dreams. He always appeared as a protector, a shield, an assuring presence. He would hug me to comfort me when I was crying. He would stand behind me while I was swinging. He would literally incorporate himself in between my dad and I, to stop him in his tracks. Even the night of the accident, the look of regret all over his face did not reveal amorous feelings; just dreadful remorse.

“I know she's right. The dreams always come with a sensation. It’s the most unusual thing. But it all fits together completely. I know that James _is_ my brother.” And I do. I feel it deep down, with certainty. “My heart is unconfined, Sidney… and it’s calling your name.”I whisper in his ear. 

“What are you saying, Char?” There is still indecision in his voice.

“I am saying that… my heart is not loving on borrowed time. Our connection does not stand on the precipice. It’s irrefutably deep, beyond our understanding, and I don’t want to waste a single day wondering what it would be like to finally surrender to it.” I lift his shirt gently, caressing his scars. My lips brush against the skin as he releases a moan, his gaze flooded with desire. He tenses up from my touch, allowing me to dig little fires across his chest. 

An unknown fearlessness takes over, as my hands unzip his jeans. He takes them in his hands, looking me straight in the eyes. 

“Are you sure you're ready?” His voice is rough and breathless.

“Let me show you.” I take off my blouse, grabbing his hand to lead him where it yearns. The blood is pulsating in my veins, convulsing from his touch. He finally surrenders. 

Slipping the strap of my bra down my shoulder, he trails fervent kisses across my collarbone, until his tongue reaches my taut nipples. His hands are undressing me feverishly, locking my arms above my head, pressing his body against mine. Ardent lips travel down my stomach and under my belly button, until I feel their warmth where I want him most, his name a moan. He grabs my breasts, feeling them, while I shudder desperately, asking him not to stop. Fingers dig deep on his back, as I pull him closer. 

I flip him over, trapping his arms above his head, wanting to finally feel him inside me. He unlocks his arms grabbing my hips, thrusting me onto him, both of us moaning from the contact. We are moving in unison, delirious, panting, insatiable. Us entwined as one feels like the natural order of things. It is as if we have done this a million times, following the impulses, the need, the wanting. His hands explore my curves, always coming back to my breasts, as I moan for more. 

“God, Charlotte, you are so damn beautiful!” His voice is hoarse with longing. 

We make love oblivious to time, slow and tender, urgent and eager, reaching for the stars. The last thrust is explosive, filling the air in the room with the released steam of our intoxication. I lay next to him, limbs in knots, catching my breath. He draws doodles on my shoulder, as we savor the moment in each other’s embrace. 

“When can we do that again?” He smiles playfully to break the intensity. 

“All you need to do is send a flare up in the sky from outside your window.” We both start laughing out loud.

“But, seriously, Char, I didn't expect this today…” He searches my face, a veil of doubt crossing his gaze. “I hope you don’t regret it… you know… after the ecstasy of the moment.”

“The only thing I regret is that we didn't do this sooner.” I blush at my own boldness. His smile is everything. He sighs with relief. 

“You know, Char, I wish we could go away for a few days, just the two of us. I know what you're thinking. Too soon, Sid, hold your horses…”

“No,” I interrupt him. “I love it. It's hard for us to be alone together, unless we're in my apartment. In class, I feel like everyone is judging. I love Arthur and all our… your… friends, but they can be a bit overwhelming.”

“They're your friends too, Char, you must know that by now. Arthur loves you to pieces. He almost killed me for not calling you the other night.” 

Arthur is the best brother one could ask for. This makes me wonder what kind of brother James is. I do know that he's protective. But what else? Did we laugh together? Did we share our secrets? Did he allow me to pursue my dreams? Those are all the memories I have yet to remember. 

“I know they are. They're...such an unexpected group.” I smile to myself thinking about the necklace Esther gave me. “There is one place I really want to visit, but I'm terrified…” I'm thinking of Lloret de Mar. I could never face a trip there on my own, but if Sidney were to accompany me, perhaps I would gather the courage to face all the potential clues waiting for me there. 

“Lloret de Mar. I noticed how you look at the picture on your wall. And, well, after your recent discovery, it seems that it's a big trigger for your memories.” 

“So? What do you think? Lloret de Mar during our midterm vacation? We can just go for a few days…”

“Spain, blue clear waters, sunny sands, and you? Yes, yes, please!” He kisses me softly. 

And, just like that, we plan our vacation together. It’s exhilarating. I am slightly petrified by the prospect of triggering memories that will ruin the experience. However, having Sidney next to me will surely make it all worth it.

  
  
  



	25. SIDNEY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just boys being boys...a bit of scheming, some fireworks, and general life epiphanies.
> 
> Enjoy!

(SIDNEY)

" _You know that place between asleep and awake, that place where you can still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always love you. That's where I'll be waiting."_

_-Peter Pan_

There's one dream that I dread more than the others. One so deeply rooted in the shadow between my heart and soul, that it threatens to obliterate the scab holding me together. I'm not sure how real it is, only that it perches on the edge of my consciousness like a bird with a broken wing, unable to fly away. 

When it comes, I know the time is near. 

When it comes, I know that every shallow memory, every half-truth, every step I've taken in the other direction is futile. Her voice will always bring me back to one moment I want to forget.

\- _Sidney?_

_Her voice is a soft whisper, and I let its warmth wash over me._

_\- Mom? Mom, where are you?_

_\- I'm here. Take my hand...hold tight._

_I feel her hand, slick with something thick and wet, inch into mine, squeezing hard. I can't move, and it's really hard to breathe. I'm cold and wet and...fighting an overwhelming urge to close my eyes._

_\- Mom...? Why does it hurt everywhere?_

_\- Shhh....shhh. It hurts...because you're a Lost Boy... just...remembering...how to fly._

_Her voice is no longer soothing. Why is she talking like that? Did her grip just loosen on mine? Fear sinks its claws in, panic rising swiftly in my blood._

_\- Mom?-- Mom, what are you saying?_

_\- Oh, Sid...I'm not...saying goodbye..._

.. _.Because goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting._

My eyes fly open, a tear slipping out before I can hold it in, but my body remains still under Charlotte's weight. My brow is beaded with cold sweat, and as I swipe my hand across my forehead, I wonder how a memory can be this bittersweet. All these years later, and the weight of my mother's voice is still an echo in the bone.

I send a tiny prayer up to whoever's listening that my strange dreams didn't wake Charlotte. She's warm, her naked body a gentle reminder of frantic lovemaking in the dark. I pull her closer, just a bit, smiling when she doesn't stir as I run my fingers through her hair and down her back.

But nothing, not even the touch of this woman, can shield me from the reminder that the anniversary of my parents' death is nearing.

* * *

The next evening Babbers stretches out lazily on our couch after dinner, unbuttoning his trousers to make room for breathing (his words, not mine). A contented smile drifts across his face, reddened by good food and altogether too much wine.

"God, you're such a pig," Arthur proclaims, looking down at him with feigned disgust. I snort into my drink. He does look rather slovenly.

"If only Esther could see you like this...she'd run hard the other way," I add, fuelling the fire.

"Then it's a good thing she's downstairs with your girlfriend and not here to witness my descent into-- hell." 

He pauses, belching loudly while Arthur inches away, fanning the air around him.

"Fucking hell, Babs," he wheezes though a pinched nose, "is it supposed to smell that bad?"

"Shutup asshole," Babington mutters, while Arthur shifts even further away.

"If it was your arsehole, I'd understand, but the stench is truly unnatural. I mean--" Whatever he was going to say gets lost in the soft smack of a throw pillow against his face, and we all dissolve into fits of laughter. I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard.

Tonight, I'm more relaxed than I've been in ages. It feels good to kick back and catch up on life with these fools, to joke around. Esther and Char are having a girls night away from us "beasts," while we gorge on food and perfect the art of not giving a fuck. Clearly Babington is taking this to heart. The man looks ecstatic about melting into the sofa.

I crouch down in front of the TV, fiddling with the gaming console. 

"Movie, or video game?"

"Movie." Babbers groans, "My thumbs are too tired to lose."

"I'm good with a movie too...," Arthur calls, "Nothing with subtitles though, I can't keep up!"

 _Dammit_. I wouldn't have minded kicking their asses at Mario Cart, but I'm down for staring blankly at a screen for twenty minutes before I fall asleep. I flip through our options, glancing up at Arthur when he thinks I'm not looking. 

What the hell is he doing, gesturing at Babs like a madman? His eyes dart between the two of us, nodding meaningfully in my direction. Is it my birthday? Or is there a giant "KICK ME" sign on my back? It certainly wouldn't be the first time I was pranked by this lot. I want to ask him what he's on about, but when he says nothing, I select a random movie and settle back to watch the opening credits. I'm too tired for his shenanigans, anyway.

"Seriously, Sid... _Red_? You know I don't do Bruce Willis or action, and this is pretty much the worst of both worlds!"

"Boo-hoo, Arthur. Sucks to be you. Remote's right there, feel free to change it."

He leans back silently in his chair, surprising me with his lack of a comeback. I can't remember the last time he was this silent on purpose. A feeling of unease blooms in my chest.

I'm just beginning to let my guard down when it happens, like it always does, a different version of the same conversation every year.

"Hey, Babs." Arthur prods Babbers with his foot. "You going up to mom and dad's memorial service this year?"

"You know I am. Haven't missed it for twelve years. Esther's coming too."

My body stills, heart rapidly thumping it's way up my throat. The heat of both their gazes scorches my skin, and I know they're waiting for me to say something. Anything, really.

"Sidney's coming too," says Arthur confidently, peaking Babbers interest.

"No, I'm not."

"But you promised--"

"Did not." 

My words are clipped, painful. I don't want to talk about this. Not now. Preferably, not ever.

"Yes, I'm sure you did," Arthur insists. "The night Char ran off--"

"I think what Arthur is trying to say is that it's been a long time, Sidney. Too long. Everyone wants you to go home. We all think it'd be good for you."

I look between my brother and friend, something terrible rearing its ugly head inside of me. When I speak, my voice is a lesson in self-control.

"Listen, I don't know what you think I said. I don't care if you believe I'm ready. I don't give a fuck if the world is ending. I'm. Not. Going."

"Sid...," says Arthur beseechingly. "You can't avoid this forever--"

I stand quickly, knocking over my drink, watching for a moment as the amber liquid spills over the coffee table, dripping onto the rug. A fitting mess for a mess of a situation.

"YOU THINK I'VE FORGOTTEN? I live with their deaths every single day! I already lived through it once, so pardon me if I don't want to live through it again!

"YOURE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO LOST THEIR PARENTS!"

Both of us are shouting at this point, breathing hard and angry at all the wrong things, but we're too deep in the ugly chaos of our worst selves to care. 

"But I'm the one who saw it happen, Arthur," I say with measured calm. "I was there. I was the one holding mom's hand...I was the one arguing with dad when we got hit--"

 _No, no-- fuck_. FUCK. Did I just say that out loud? I'm all too aware of the sudden hush in the room. I've never told anyone about the argument, having schooled myself to forget that one particular detail. Arthur's face is bloodless, shocked. He blinks rapidly, absorbing my words but can form none of his own. Babbers stands up beside me, squeezing my shoulder firmly.

"Sid, it's ok. It wasn't your fault. You must know that..."

"Don't touch me," I say, backing away towards the door. His understanding only makes me angrier. 

Because the thing is, it's always felt like my fault. And no matter what I do, I just can't seem to let go of the guilt of being a lone survivor amongst casualties.

* * *

I take the stairs, two at a time, down to the third floor, banging urgently on Charlotte's door. I don't know why I'm here, but I need to see her face more than I need air. Esther opens the door mid-laugh.

"Go away, Sid. Charlotte doesn't wanna see your stupid face right now."

"Babington needs you. Horrible stomach...pains. Might want to get him home."

The humour slips from her face, brow furrowing in concern as she puts down the drink she's holding to grab her purse.

"You could have called, you know! I could have gotten there faster!

"He deserves to suffer a little," I mutter under my breath, but she's already at the elevator, frantically pushing the button.

Once we're alone, Charlotte leans against the door, eyes full of worry.

"Should we all go up? Make sure he's ok?"

I reach past her to lock the door, desire looming fiercely in my core.

"He's fine," I whisper in her ear. "I just really needed to see you."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. And touch you." I run my fingers up her thigh and under her little dress. "And kiss you." 

Cupping the back of her neck, I lean down and kiss her hard. She grabs my shirt, tongue flicking across my lower lip, that one little movement enough to undo me. I flatten my body against hers, pressing into her so she knows how badly I need her.

Charlotte draws back breathlessly, eyes desperately searching mine. I can feel the restless beat of her heart against my chest, and I know that whatever secrets I'm holding at bay won't remain safe for long.

"Sidney. What's happened?"

"Nothing. Nothing's happened."

I lean in to kiss her again, but her warm hands frame my face, bringing my gaze to hers.

"I don't believe you," she says quietly.

"Char...please. I promise we'll talk after."

If I feel a little guilty about using sex as a buffer between me and my emotions, I push it into the oblivion of my mind. I don't want to think right now. The only thing I want right now is the feel of her around me when I'm deep inside. 

She nods, and it's all the encouragement I need to slip the dress over her head, brushing my fingers across the thin lace of her bra. She moans against my lips at the contact, deepening our kiss until I'm gasping for air. I feel her everywhere, like lightning across my skin, shocking me to life. She makes quick work of my jeans and boxers, stroking me slowly from base to tip, over and over, bringing me almost to the edge.

" _Charlotte_ \--," her name falls off my tongue, a harsh plea, but she only smiles wickedly in response.

When there's nothing between us, I grab her thighs and lift her onto me, carrying us both to the sofa. She straddles my legs, guiding me into her slick wetness, moving rhythmically as her fingers thread my hair, tugging gently. The adrenaline pounding through my veins only heightens my desire, each thrust bringing us both closer.

Suddenly, I grip her hips, slowing our movements. Charlotte looks at me in askance through hooded eyes, but I can't find the words to tell her that I need to prolong this sweet ache, that I need it to last.

"Don't move," I whisper in her ear as she bucks reflexively against me.

"Sid-- _don't make me stop._.."

"Trust me ok? Just...close your eyes and feel me."

I kiss her then, slowly and passionately, our tongues dancing together, searching for more. Her fingers trace the now familiar scars across my chest, as if mapping something unknowable. My fingers skim her abdomen, snaking behind to outline the dimpled ridges of her spine. I kiss along her jaw, down the curve of her neck and shoulder to her chest. She gasps as I circle her nipple with my tongue, both of us narrowly resisting the urge to move again as one.

"Oh God," she cries arching her back against the sweet torture, taking me deeper, clenching in a way that tells me she's close.

I thrust inside her then, and again and again, until she moans her release against my lips, until the tension within me explodes and I see stars. She collapses against me, utterly spent, both of us breathlessly exhausted.

Minutes, or maybe hours later, I move us to her bed, pulling her against me like a shield. She's so quiet that I think she's fallen asleep. I should have known better. 

"Wanna tell me what that was about?" Charlotte asks, propping her head up on her arm, smiling lazily. "Not that I didn't enjoy it...because I did...but still." 

She smiles at me encouragingly. I sigh thoughtfully, telling her everything from the plans for my parents' memorial service to how I blew up at Arthur and Babington for trying to force me to go. When I'm done, she looks at me with an inscrutable expression that makes me nervous as hell. 

She flops down on the bed to stare at the ceiling, far too silent for my liking.

"Well, first of all," she begins, "you're going to apologize to Arthur and Babington first thing in the morning."

I close my eyes, groaning my disapproval.

"Do I have to?"

"It's not up for discussion, Sidney Parker. You were a right old arse to them when they were only trying to help you." 

She glances at me sideways and I can't help smiling. I'm a huge fan of bossy Charlotte. In fact, I might sin a little more often just to see this side of her again.

"As for going back home and facing the things you'd rather forget...I can't force you to go, even if I think you should."

"I don't want to forget, Char. I just don't want to remember." Her face is neutral, and I'd give anything to know what's running through her beautiful mind. "Jesus, I know that sounds so fucking selfish, but I'm stuck in this weird place where everything hurts when I think about them. I've...been stuck for twelve years."

Charlotte shifts into the crook of my arm, her voice sleepy, but still lucid.

"Not selfish, only truthful. You can't compare yourself to me, Sid. Sometimes things happen, and all we can do is learn to live with them...It's always a choice, one way or another."

I feel the precise moment when she falls asleep, her form growing heavy against mine. Her breaths come steady, hushing my inner demons, making my eyes grow heavy with fatigue. Not for the first time, I wonder how she could ever think she's empty when she's so damn full of every good thing.

* * *

Four days later, we make the two hour coastal drive back home. I'm not ready to face the past. I'm not ready to move on, and quite frankly the thought of seeing my parents' names etched in stone scares the hell out of me. But everytime my eyes collide with Charlotte's in the rearview mirror...(Arthur called shotgun, what can I say?)...I'm thankful that at least I have the choice to do this.

All too soon, we pull up in front of a sprawling craftsman style house on the water. The sound of tires on gravel must have announced our arrival, because a tall slim man comes rushing out, followed by three young children, and a woman with a baby in her arms.

Charlotte gets out of the car slowly, ogling the elaborate landscape with her mouth slightly ajar. By the time I slip my hand into hers, the group in the distance is nearing.

"Welcome to Sanditon House, Char. This is where I grew up. And this..." I say, gesturing to the sandy-haired man now standing before us, "is my brother, Tom."


	26. CHARLOTTE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who needs paradise when they've got Tom Parker?
> 
> Let's just say that being home can do strange things to a person.

(CHARLOTTE)

A tall, thin and energetic man with bright blue eyes walks in our direction. He is followed by a blonde woman. She seems discrete in his shadow, observing the meeting with the most intense precision. Her eyes light up instantly when she stops her gaze on Sidney, a warmth covering them like a blanket. Tom makes two giant steps to close the distance. 

“Sidney! So good to see you. Finally!” He looks at me with questioning eyes. “And this is…”

“This is Charlotte, Tom, my… our… uh… friend.”

Sidney motions in the direction of Arthur, then himself. He looks incredibly uncomfortable. The sting of disappointment digs deep as I taste it in my mouth, unexpectedly bitter. He couldn't bring himself to acknowledge that we are together in front of his older brother’s family. Is he embarrassed by our relationship? I never once gave it a thought. All of his other friends were so welcoming that I never questioned _us_. 

“Uncle Sidney!” A gang of little children pile on top of Sidney, giggling, messing up his hair, pulling his shirt, trying to bring him down. “We missed you!”

Arthur appears next to me in a second, whispering.

“Don’t pay him any attention, Char. He's... weird when Tom's around. It’s the most annoying thing.”

But I'm not ok. Regardless of the reasons Sidney may have, I know that I am completely out of place here. This intimate gathering was intended for family. I should never have agreed to accompany them. But, that morning, sitting in their kitchen, Sidney and Arthur both insisted that this is how it must be. Arthur was so grateful that I had managed to convince Sidney to at least consider the possibility of coming back for his parents’ memorial, and Sid didn’t want to hear any objections. 

“How do you find the house, Sidney?” Tom’s voice booms in front of me, as he leads Sidney inside. “We made some improvements. I _cannot_ wait for you to see how much Sanditon has changed! It’s truly a fashionable place these days. Eliza’s parents want to invest in our venture. You must make an effort with her, Sidney, you really…”

They walk so fast that I can't overhear the rest of their conversation. The mention of her name makes me cringe. That awful woman seeps malice from every pore. Why would Tom ask Sidney to make an effort with her?

“Charlotte, I must apologize for Tom. He should have introduced me. I'm his wife, Mary.” She gives me a guarded smile. I'm sure she wonders why I'm here for this sad occasion, intruding on the family’s private grief. “Let me lead you to the guest room. It has the best view in the house. I want my guests to be treated to the most breathtaking sights the house can offer.” 

The room feels homey and the view is truly unforgettable. The never-ending beach line merging into the blue waters, melting into the pastel cyan sky. I open the window to breath in the sea breeze and memories of a similar smell cascade in.

* * *

_James as a teenage boy, a few years older than me, running on the beach, calling after me._

_“Charlotte, stop running, it’s time to get back! Dad gets angry if we're late for dinner!"_

_“But, James,” I stop my eyes imploring “I want to see the sunset.”_

_“You're just like your mom. She always wanted to stay for that. She loved the colors of the sunset - lavender, magenta, atomic tangerine… remember?”_

_I nod, my eyes stinging from the salty tears._

_“She had a way of describing colors, making them sound like the most magical things… I am certain she is enjoying the peaceful sapphire tones of the sea and the dwindling pastel purple of the sunset somewhere out there, even now, don’t you think?"_

_He sits quietly, digging fingers in the sand, looking down._

* * *

A knock on the door brings me back to the nostalgic guest room by the sea. Sanditon House surely has its charms. It sits perfectly by the edge of the beach, surrounded by the serendipitous coves and enchanting clifftops.

“Char, it’s Arthur. Can I come in?” I was hoping Sidney would finally grace me with his presence to explain what happened earlier. I open the door to Arthur’s blinding grin. 

“I'm here to save you! Tom is holding Sid hostage, but the two of us can steal a walk by the beach before dinner. What do you say?” I don’t think there is any conceivable way to reject an offer from Arthur Parker. 

“All right. Lead the way, Arthur.”

The landscapes are disarming. There's a rugged beauty about this place, which reminds me of Lloret de Mar. I keep coming back to that place, over, and over, and over again. 

“You mustn’t be upset with Sidney, Char. Coming back here is too much for him…” Arthur starts somewhat hesitant.

“Arthur, look, I know that you're an exceptional friend, you've proven that to me on many occasions now. I also know that you're a loyal brother… But, you need to let Sidney fix his own mess. You can't allow him to walk through life clueless about how his actions and words affect other people.”

I sense anger rising in my voice. I stop to calm my temper down. There is something to be said about taking long pauses when we speak. It gives us the power to choose our words carefully.

“There is no reasonable explanation I can fathom that will forgive the introduction he gave me in front of Tom. Yes, I am your friend, but this is _not_ why I'm here, is it!? I came as Sidney’s girlfriend.”

Arthur walks by my side silently. He nods as I speak, allowing me to voice all of my emotions. A distant high-pitched female voice reaches us. 

“Arthur, dear! Arthur! _Hello_!” As we both turn around, a woman about Arthur’s age is striding in our direction, panting, and frantically waving at us. She has a youthful face and a prettyish smile. Her skin is perfectly smooth and her eyes are the color of dark amber.

“ _Shit_ …” Arthur moans with displeasure. “I'm afraid my sister Diana has arrived at Sanditon House as well.” I have only heard of their sister on a couple of occasions. Arthur purposely avoided any mention of her, and Sidney hardly ever spoke about any of his relatives. In hindsight, I should have been concerned about that. 

“Oh, Arthur! I can hardly catch my breath. This sea air is not good for my lungs, you know. It’s too sharp. It penetrates your bones. I don’t know what I was thinking coming back to Sanditon. I have not been well, brother. I must rest, next to the crackling fire.”

“Diana, I'm sure you'll be alright.” There is a touch of sarcasm in his voice. I have never heard him speak like this before. “Maybe you should go back to the house, away from this treacherous breeze.”

“Oh, Arthur, dear, you are so right. But, but… what about you? You know, I am very worried about your poor health. Ever since that cold that almost took you away from us…”

“That was years ago! I was a child.” Arthur is annoyed. I can hardly recognize him. 

“Perhaps we should walk back.” I interject. 

“Oh, you must be Charlotte, Arthur’s friend. Tom mentioned you . Did you come to support Arthur in this … difficult… moment? How good of you, dear!” I am seething with anger. It was bad enough that I was introduced as Sidney’s friend. Now, I have been completely disassociated from him. 

“It must be dinner time anyway...” Arthur sounds defeated. I must find a moment alone with him to ask him about his relationship with his sister. She seems like she may be a bit overprotective, with hypochondriac tendencies.

* * *

I reluctantly change for dinner. My uneasiness is growing by the hour and Sidney has not been able to escape Tom’s tight grip for even a minute since we arrived. As I walk down the stairs, I overhear Sidney’s conversation with Tom in the parlor. 

“Sidney, I don’t understand your aversion to Eliza. She is smart and beautiful, and her family has been interested in supporting us in our venture for years.”

“Tom, stop insisting! I don’t think it’s appropriate to involve her family in our affairs. It’s a family of snakes, creeping in the bushes, waiting to jump you, to insert their poison in your veins when you least expect it!”

“Sidney, Sidney, Sidney! You are grossly exaggerating.”

“Tom! Dad hated the man. Ok? He hated Eliza’s father. So _stop it_!”

Sidney storms out and nearly crashes into me.

“Char!” His face lights up. “Oh, I missed you.” He curves his arm around my waist and pulls me for a kiss. I push him away gently.

“Be careful. Or… your brother might wonder why you're kissing _Arthur’s friend_.” As I walk away, he gives me the most confused look. This infuriates me even more. 

The dining room seating arrangement is absolutely ridiculous. Sidney is flagged by Tom and Mary, impossible to escape the hosts. Arthur is squeezed by Tom on one side and Diana on the other. I am singled out on the end of the table with no one sitting across from me and Diana sitting next to me. 

“Mary, why is Charlotte on that end of the table?” Sidney whispers.

“I am sorry. I guess I thought that you and Arthur will want to sit by Tom, since you hardly see each other…” She observes us closely, moving her gaze between Sidney and me.

“Everyone, I want to welcome you to our home. Sanditon House is and will always be our family home. I am especially happy to welcome Sidney back. I hope that, now, we will get to see more of him.”

“Thank you, Tom.” Sidney cuts his brother’s speech short. He seems out of place, tense and a tiny bit exasperated. 

“I cannot wait for us to visit the town tomorrow. Sidney, you will be impressed, brother. Things have really picked up around here, and young people seek out the ample delights of this sea resort. I am sure this is why your friend Charlotte decided to join you.” Tom’s assessment of why I'm here makes my blood boil. Arthur’s expression shows desperation, and I know he wants me to remain calm.

“No, Tom, that's not why Char is here!” Arthur’s tone is ice cold and he throws Sidney a murderous look. 

“Oh, I'm sorry if I assumed incorrectly. Why _is_ Charlotte here?” Tom seems genuinely interested, but also somewhat confused.

“Yes, Sidney, why is Charlotte here?” I utter, my voice quietly menacing, tears hanging on the edge by a thread. I peer at him defiantly, waiting for him to finally acknowledge who I am.

There is awkward silence at the table. Everyone is staring at us expectantly. Sidney looks down at his empty plate, as if hopelessly searching for an answer there. After what seems like an eternity, Mary breaks the silence.

“Is anyone hungry? Dig in everyone.” The clink and clank of the utensils and plates interrupts the utter awkwardness between us. I stand up slowly, trying to become invisible. 

“Excuse me.”

* * *

Back in the guest room, I let my tears fall freely. I don’t understand what's happening. It feels like Sidney is under a spell. I'm not even sure I know him. This version of him is nothing like the kind, considerate and confident guy I met. I must be misunderstanding the situation. There has to be an explanation. So, I wait for him to fly open the door, asking me to forgive him, telling me that he has been an unmitigated ass. But, the silent roar of the waves outside my window is the only companion I have. 

I stare at my phone. Who can I possibly call? Esther? No, she will tell Babbers. Georgiana? She is not reliable enough. The only person I can share my disappointment with is Arthur, but he is stuck in sibling prison downstairs. And, then, my phone rings. An unknown number. I normally wouldn't pick up a call like this, but my urge to speak is so acute that I answer.

“Hello?”

There is silence and a rush of breath on the other end.

“ _Hello_? Do you have the wrong number?”

“No.” James’ tender voice is breaking. “No, Charlotte, I have the right number…”


	27. JAMES

(JAMES)

My desperation to locate Char and to find something about her whereabouts is getting the best of me. I am not able to sleep at night or function at work. My friends all wear those forlorn faces, avoiding my gaze and tiptoeing around every conversation. Lately, I've felt like a despicable excuse for a human being. I lose my temper easily. The guilt is all-consuming. All those years spent convinced that I was doing the right thing. Both my fault, and dad's for taking the easy way out, for convincing me we that our deception was a small mercy.

If I ever find her, I'll take my time. I won’t be able to discuss that night, the awful night she left in tears. I hope she doesn't remember our parting, the sour feeling of betrayal. I'll tell her the truth, but first, I will help her find herself. I wonder if she still wakes up at five every morning with those haunting nightmares. I was there to hold her close countless times, brushing her tears away, playing the guitar to soothe her pain. She loved to call me “Stringer” because, as a child, I told her that my Spanish guitar has magical strings.

* * *

It’s yet another sleepless night, and I peruse the internet for news of Char’s accident. A local newspaper reported that a violent crash near MoVida left a young woman seriously injured. The report is exactly two lines, merged into a different story, but I can't believe I hadn't seen it before. I've tried dozens of Google search combinations, but this is the first time this report pops up!

I call the reporter first thing in the morning, explaining that I believe the young woman in that crash is my sister. She gives me the name of the hospital where they transported her and wishes me good luck. 

“It was a brutal crash. The car was totaled. I hope she's ok.”

“Thank you so much!” I know that she is alive, but she needs me, and I am going to turn every stone until I find her.

* * *

I hit a wall with the not-so-friendly lady at the front desk of the ER. She insists that she can't divulge any information about former patients and she assures me that Charlotte Heywood is not currently a patient. She points towards the people behind me.

“Sir, do you see the number of patients in the waiting area? I need to attend to them.” 

“Please, can you direct me to someone who may be able to help me?” I am ready to drop on my knees begging. 

A nurse who overhears our conversation hovers around. She waves at me discreetly, and I follow.

“Did you say you're looking for Charlotte Heywood?”

“Yes! Do you know her?” A glimmer of hope perhaps. 

“Please wait here.” She disappears through the ER entrance and reappears a few minutes later with an unfriendly looking man with glasses and a surgical mask. 

“I understand you are looking for Charlotte Heywood.” He observes me closely under his glasses. He has a thick German accent.

“Yes, I'm her brother! I've been looking for her for weeks, maybe months now.” Adrenaline is causing me to slur my words. I take a deep breath and continue. “Her landlord told me she lost her memories after a car accident, but she moved, you see, and I have no idea where I can find her.”

“Follow me, please.” He proceeds through the doors, practically sprinting. I can hardly keep up with him. He enters a room and closes the door, as he removes the mask. “My name is Dr. Fuchs. I was your sister’s attending physician.”

I must be gaping at him because he stops in his tracks to inspect me closely. Then, he proceeds to walk back and forth, his booming voice resonating between the walls. It’s disconcerting. 

“Charlotte is suffering from retrograde amnesia.” He stops suddenly. “Do you know what this means?”

“I, erm, am not sure. She doesn't remember anything?” I venture a guess.

“Not exactly. She does not remember anything that occurred to her prior to the development of the amnesia.”

“But… what caused the amnesia?”

“I suspect that it was caused by the injury to the head in the crash. However, the more time I spent with your sister, the more I wondered if there was another reason, one deeply rooted in her psyche…” He gives me a probing look. “See, I have never had a patient so reluctant to treatment. So unwilling to remember…”

Cold sweat starts to drip down my neck and back. What is he insinuating?

“Did Charlotte experience any trauma in her childhood? Abuse perhaps?”

I jump from my seat, furious. If he is suggesting that I could not protect her, he is wrong! I did everything I could.

“What are you saying!” I yell defensively. “Yes, our father was violent at times, but I did eeverything in my power to protect her!”

“Sit down, please, and calm yourself!” His stern tone is like a splash of cold water in my face. “I am not suggesting that you did not try to protect her. But, the little you disclosed just now explains a lot.” He sits down next to me. 

I'm shaking. All these years later, and I still feel inadequate. The small doubt, which was ingrained within my very being, was telling me that I never would be enough. The bond Charlotte had with her mom was monumental and I don’t know why I ever thought I could fill the colossal void. Father’s violent outbursts were manageable when Char’s mom was with us. She had a magical touch with him. He loved her intensely. 

“Look, if you want Charlotte to be happy in her adult life, you need to help her find a voice. She needs to seek professional help. She may already have some disconnected memories. She is in need of healing.” His voice is soft. 

“Where do I look for her?,” I ask in anguish. “If she doesn't actually want to remember, she might be doing what she can to remain concealed from those of us who may be looking for her.” The hopefulness I felt earlier is now completely gone. 

“You’ll find her. The small fragments of memories will lead her to familiar places. Just be patient.” Dr. Fuchs says on the way out.

* * *

I drive distractedly, engrossed in thought. All my attempts to shield her were futile. She is scarred forever, in no small part, because of me. I concealed a truth that could have set her free. I find myself in a parking lot, looking around awestruck. My subconscious led me to the parking lot where we last saw each other. I am in front of MoVida, our favorite spot. I don’t believe in faith, but I think there is such a thing as serendipity. So, I park my car and walk in to order our favorite meal. 

The hostess recognizes me.

“James! It is so good to see you. The usual?”

“Yes.” I smile. I love this place. They know me so well, I am hardly required to give it any thought. “Is Rachel working tonight?”

The hostess nods energetically. There is a mysteriousness in her voice when she speaks.

“She will be _so_ excited to see you.”

Rachel comes immediately after I am seated. She holds a little piece of paper in her hand, and she is practically breathless.

“James, hi!” She's fidgety. “I have to tell you something… Your sister was here a few weeks ago.”

I grab her hand impatiently.

“What are you saying? Charlotte was here!?”

She is startled by my inappropriate touch, so I release her at once. 

“I am so sorry, Rachel! Are you sure Charlotte was here?”

She hands me the little note in her hand. 

“She came here looking for clues. After she met me, I told her that you two were regulars here. About that night…erm… I told her that you were having somewhat of a heated conversation.” My heart sinks. “She left her phone for you to call her, James.”

I'm speechless. Just an hour ago, I'd lost all hope. And now, in my hand, I have the magic digits that will lead me to Char. Happy tears of relief start pouring down my face. Rachel hands me a tissue. 

“If you want to go call her now, please do. You can dine with us any day, but this might be the most important phone call of your life…” Her blue eyes are full of tears. I have always admired Rachel for her gracefulness and beauty. But under the dimmed light, she looks even more stunning. 

“Thank you! I'll be on my way. Thank you for being the bearer of such good news, Rachel!” I squeeze her hands in mine and run outside. 

My breathing is rushed and hollow. My palms are sweating as I dial the numbers. Her voice undoes me, as if coming from another dimension. I'm tongue-tied for a few seconds. 

“No, Charlotte, I have the right number…”

“James?” Her voice trembles in my ear. “Is that you?”

“Yes, Char, it’s me. It’s really me!” I'm crying like a child, incapable of suppressing my joy. 

“I am _so_ glad you called…” I sense pain in her voice and my instincts of her protector kick in.

“Char, are you alright? Where are you? What's going on?” I spit out a million questions in one breath.

There's a long pause before she answers. 

“I'm in Sanditon with some friends.”

“Friends? New friends?” My brain is racing in so many directions. Why is she so far away with people she probably barely knows? She couldn't possibly have formed reliable friendships in the short weeks after her accident. What if someone is taking advantage of her vulnerability? I take a deep breath. I don’t want to overpower her. “Are you all right?” I collect myself, attempting to sound calm.

“I'm alright. I just feel so lonely tonight, so out of place…”

“Do you want me to come get you?”

“You would do that?” She sounds astonished. 

“Of course! I’ll drive there right now… if that's what you want me to do.” Dr. Fuchs’ words resurface. I need to give her a voice, allow her to heal. I need to be there when she needs me and away when she wants to have space.

“If you could pick me up tomorrow afternoon… I want to be here for my friends… I, uh, came to support them on a difficult journey. _..I'm no coward! I’ll stay through the memorial.”_ She seems to be talking to herself. 

“No problem! I'll be there tomorrow, just...give me the address.”

“Thank you, James.”

“Charlotte, I'm _so sorry I_ didn't find you sooner… and I'm sorry I wasn't there for you during this horrible ordeal. I promise to make it up to you…”

I don’t know why I'm apologizing so much. I feel responsible for all of this. Her accident is my fault. Everything is my fault. 

“Don’t worry, James. You're here now, aren’t you?" She sounds happier. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

I jot down the address as soon as I hang up. I won’t be sleeping tonight. “Sanditon” sounds eerily familiar. I must be tired…


	28. SIDNEY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a beast...a long a necessary journey into Sidney’s mind, his family, and how he deals with things falling apart.
> 
> Enjoy! The argument is a special treat 😜

(SIDNEY)

" _If the path you're on doesn't lead to you expanding your heart, your soul, your mind, then it's not the right path."_

_\- Lalah Delia_

There must be an unwritten rule that all good things go to shit at the exact moment you need them not to. 

The second we pull up to Sanditon House, I realize how much I don't want to be here. Not for this. Not at all, if I'm being quite honest. Despite all the happy memories seeping from the house's ancient stones, I can only seem to recall the bad ones. I'm nauseatingly sick of this place already, and my gut instinct is to grab Charlotte's hand and make a run for it. Instead, my feet stay firmly rooted to the ground as the hands of grief and guilt snake up my throat from within, stealing the goddamn air from my lungs. 

As Tom comes bounding out of the house, I take a step back, my fingers scraping into the side of the dusty car, like nails on a chalkboard. I grit my teeth against the unwelcome sensation. Everything about him, from his overzealous gait to the slightly crazed smile on his stupid face makes me want to sink into the earth with a drink or two for company. I hate the way his eyes glaze over Charlotte as if she's insignificant. Even more, I hate how know that he's exactly two point five seconds away from mentioning what a pity it is that I didn't turn up with Eliza.

Hell, he should be thankful I turned up at all. My past has the right to remain silent, to sit the fuck down and lay low for the rest of my life. Too bad that everyone in my life disagrees, because right now I'm pretty sure I'm okay with the dreams and the scars and blatant avoidance of a time I'd rather forget. Yep, I'm good with letting history rest. No need to revisit the same incident year after year, as if I haven't already lived through it one too many times. 

And then I'm talking. _Why am I talking?_ What am I even saying, and more importantly, why is no one stopping me? Funny how it takes no time at all for me to open my mouth and derail the fucking trainwreck I call life.

_Last stop, Friend Zone! Step down and jump off the cliff to imminent relationship suicide! No refunds or exchanges! Thank you for riding the Parker Express, come again soon!_

God, I wasn't thinking straight

The moment I introduce Charlotte as my "friend," I know that I've made a colossal mistake. I can't quite understand why my mouth won't cooperate with my mind, despite the neon "SHUT UP!" sign currently flashing across my brain. I hear her sharp intake of breath, the jagged prick of her injured gaze along my traitorous lips. Because we were never really friends, only ever something more, and I feel deeply my own betrayal of every unspoken thing that defines us.

It's one of those things that can't easily be unsaid. I know I'm going to have to get down on my knees later to have even a fighting chance of getting out of this mess. I sneak a glance at Char, and judging from her cool demeanor, it won't be easy. The offending word leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, but there's no time for amends as Tom leads me to the house ahead of the rest, prattling senselessly about nothing important.

And God help me, but I swear I can hear the Fates plucking at the strings of my destiny, cackling mirthlessly in the background as I walk away from the only thing in my life that matters.

* * *

(Three hours later...)

"Sidney? Sidney! What do you think?"

Tom's anxious voice breaks the nervous thrum of my thoughts. For the most part, I've been ignoring him, but my head is throbbing now. It's been hours since I've seen even a whisper of Arthur or Charlotte, and I'm seriously beginning to doubt their existence. Or my own for that matter, because this is pure torture.

"Hmmm, what?" I glance at the modern three bedroom, two-storey annex I'm currently standing in. "Oh, the addition is great, Tom, but was it really necessary? The house already has seven bedrooms..."

His face falls, caving in on itself like a cheap card trick.

"Well, you know the kids are getting older and--"

"And what? You thought it was time for them to have two bedrooms instead of one?" 

I laugh, but the sound is a hollow echo in my chest.

"Well...we wanted to make sure we had enough room for family and guests whenever they come. And more space is, of course, always better..."

"Not when it costs two hundred thousand! And whatever happened to camping out on the sofa? Alessia can have my old room, it's not a shrine, you know!"

"Come now, Sidney...think of how it would look for us to be in the business of real estate and not have the best of the best!"

Ahhh, there it is. _Appearances_. That's what this is really about. 

"Of course," he continues, "this would be less of a surprise if you visited more often than once in a blue moon...or, I don't know, answered your phone from time to time."

His accusatory gaze flickers to meet mine in the glaring sunlight. I sigh deeply, massaging the crease in my brow as my eyes travel the spacious room again, this time taking in the brushed gold finishes, vaulted ceilings and whitewashed shiplap walls. All of it is beautifully unnecessary, but that's not what he wants to hear.

"It's...great, Tom. Really, it is. You outdid yourself."

"Well, I can't take all the credit. Rich Campion did convince me that it would be money well spent." 

"Rich Campion? What the fuck, Tom? You know dad hated him!"

He tugs restlessly at the neck of his shirt, fingers sliding to the back of his neck. He knows I can't stand Eliza's father. Hell, the entire Campion family is a taste I've no wish to acquire.

"He's not that bad." Tom's voice is quietly urgent, almost sickening. "He wants to buy into the company, you know..."

"And the answer will be the same as it was twelve years ago when mom and dad sent him packing! I don't care what lies he's fed you, that man only ever thinks about himself!"

I haven't even been home half a day and I'm already shouting. The kids are playing somewhere in the background, and I take a deep, steadying breath to guard against another outburst. I need Charlotte, a hug, a kiss, hell, even a bat signal for just a minute to soothe my growing frustration.

"That's not fair, Sid! Might I remind you that I'm the one running the family business while the rest of you are off galavanting?"

 _Fucking really?_ And he wonders why I never come home. I shake my head incredulously.

"And might I remind _you_ that just two years ago, I stood in this very house and signed away my career and half my life savings to save this business from your mistakes??" My voice is dangerously low. "So, please, don't lecture me on the virtues of sacrifice."

He has no reply. We're both breathing hard, silently glaring at each other, the space between us charged with broken things and sour histories. I barely register soft footsteps approaching from behind. I'm hopeful that it's Charlotte, but when I turn, it's only Mary. She offers a tentative smile, no doubt fully aware of...everything. 

Tom and I can never be in the same room for long without fighting, and that's a fact I'll tell you for free.

"Why don’t you boys take a break now?"

"Best thing I've heard all day." I lean in to peck her cheek. "You're too good for him, you know."

"Yeah, I know." She smiles. "Tom, make yourself useful and check on the girls. I'm going to get Sidney settled in..."

She turns from the room, and I follow without argument.

* * *

We take the stairs slowly. I can sense that she's weighing her words carefully. Mary learned to be tactful a long time ago, a side effect of having Tom for a husband, I suppose. Every little creak has my head snapping up like a jack-in-box, hoping to catch a glimpse of the only person I want to see, but she's nowhere in sight. I resolve to find Char as soon as possible, to beg forgiveness, because I miss her and I'm pretty certain I can't face any of this without her by my side.

"So, I was thinking you could stay in your old room..."Unless--?"" Mary's voice is soft, inquiring, and my heart beats a little faster. 

"Unless what?"

"It's you and Charlotte, isn't it?"

_Yeah, it's me and Charlotte, though I'm pretty sure she hates me right now._

"How did you know?"

"You look at her like you love her," she says simply. "I’ve always told Tom that I envy the woman you fall in love with."

"What? Why's that?" 

"Because when you find her, you'll give her your all...and for what it's worth, I'm pretty sure you've found her."

A smile tugs at the corners of my lips as we traipse across the landing to my room. Neither one of us makes a move to enter, choosing instead to hang awkwardly in the doorway.

"We haven't touched anything. Tom insists on it..." Her voice drops to a whisper. 

I grip her shoulder gently, sensing her sadness, seeking her eyes. "It would be ok if you cleaned it all out. It's not mine anymore, not really."

She shakes her head, swiping her cheek with the back of her hand.

"Don't mind Tom, Sidney. All this, the house... the business, it's his way of coping. I-- love him, but in recent years he's become obsessed with preserving your parents' legacy."

My lips form a thin, hard line, my other hand clenching against the cool wall.

"Mary, when is he going to understand that _we_ are their legacy? You, me, us, the kids, their family? Our happiness was the only thing that mattered to them...and so far all we've managed to do is fall apart."

It hits me hard then, the way their loss still reverberates in our lives, all of us existing instead of living, holding on instead of letting go. And I hate myself just a little for being so wrapped up in my own pain that it made me blind to the enormity of our shared trauma.

"Well, you're here now, and that says something." She pats my arm reassuringly, attempting a watery smile. "Why don't you get settled in? And remember, it's no biggie if you want to rearrange the sleeping arrangements..."

I smile back at her, thinking that I'd like nothing more than to sleep...and do other things with Charlotte in my old room.

* * *

The doorknob still squeaks when I turn it, just like it did when I was a boy. I haven't stayed in this room, not even for a night, since I left home. Stepping inside is like stepping into the past, into every version of boyhood me. And yet, there's something off. It doesn't take me long to figure out what it is. 

A mop of barely concealed brown hair peeks out from the far corner of the bed, hard to miss if you know where to look.

"Arthur?"

"NOTHING!," he shouts, as if caught in the act. (Doing what, I don't want to know.)

"Are you...hiding?"

"Pfffff, me hiding? Nope! What the heck gave you that idea?" He coughs nervously, lifting his head just enough to make eye contact. "Say, you haven't seen...uhm...Diana anywhere, have you?

"Depends. What's my silence worth to you?"

I lean back against the wall, crossing my arms and smiling wickedly. I had no idea that Diana was back as yet, but Arthur doesn't know that. His face betrays his desperation.

"So help me God Sidney, if you tell her where I am, I won't help you with Char...cause boy oh boy, she was suuuuper pissed at the stunt you pulled this morning. I mean, since when are you "friends?"

 _Shit. This is not good_. I run a hand up my face and through my hair. 

"Being here, and Tom--"

"Tom will never change his expectations unless you give him a reason to, Sid! You know that!"

I can hear the blood pumping in my ears as the smile slips from my face. I knew she was angry, but I had no idea it was _I-need-help-to-fix-this_ bad. Oh God, I feel sick. I should have told Tom to fuck off and looked for her sooner. 

"Where is she?" My fingers inch toward the door ahead of his answer.

"Right now? I don't know...but I'm pretty sure she'd been crying before I took her up to the lake a while ago."

I swallow hard, ready to bolt, but then a series of unusual things happen in quick succession. The first is Diana's perky voice calling for Arthur as she climbs the stairs. Next, Arthur scales the bed to grip my shoulders dramatically.

"Ouch!," I exclaim, as his nails dig into my skin through the thin tshirt I'm wearing.

"FUCKING HIDE ME!" 

He's whispering loudly, and I narrowly resist the urge to laugh out loud because we played out the same scenario a million times as kids.

"Oh _Arthur_ ," I mimic, " _Diana will never change her expectations unless you give her a reason to..."_

"You are dead to me if you let her find me! DEAD. Understand?" His eyes are manic, and I truly believe he'd keep his word for at least half a day, tops.

I motion for him to hide in the closet just as Diana raps quickly and squeaks the door open. 

"Yoohoo! Oh hey Sid, you haven't seen Arthur anywhere have you? I swear, I just heard his voice!"

Holy hell, she looks so much like our mom I have to do a double take. She always did, but the resemblance has become more pronounced with age.

"No." I clear my throat. "No, he's not here. He disappeared on me the second we got home."

She nods knowingly. "You really should be taking better care of him, you know. Remember the diarrhea debacle of 2003? He looks like he's wasting away!"

I think I'm going to need professional help keeping a straight face at this point.

"I'm a thousand percent certain he only had diarrhea because you gave him ex-lax instead of gravol for his upset stomach..."

Her eyes narrow suspiciously at the closet door.

"That's not how I remember it," she scoffs. "Are you sure you haven't seen him? I made him a green smoothie." She motions to the shaker full of green sludge in her hands.

"Oh wow, that's umm...great, but Arthur is allergic to green. Like, the whole colour just throws him off." 

I fake gag so that she gets the picture. Her eyes grow wide in disbelief.

"He is not! Although...," she pauses thoughtfully, "...that would explain a lot!"

"Hand to God," I say holding my right hand over my heart, struggling very hard not to burst from the absurdity of this entire conversation. "Why don't you try his room instead of mine?"

"Oh, good idea!" She begins to head down the hall. "Do you think he'll like kombucha more?"

"Unless it's made of either peanut butter or chocolate....NO."

I close the door against her stricken face, dying a slow death from keeping it all in. When I'm sure she's out of hearing range I sink to the floor in fits of laughter, mostly because Arthur's now wheezing behind the closet door, trying to bust his way out. I'd forgotten that the jamb gets stuck unless you twist it a certain way.

Time screws with almost everything, but some things never change. Like Arthur stuck in the closet, the chaos of all four Parker kids together under one roof, and other strange wonders I'd rather not think about just now.

* * *

It's late when I finally make it up to Charlotte's room, exhausted from a day that dragged on for what felt like a year. I missed her every second of our time apart. She rebuffed me at dinner, and though it stung, I get it. If I were in her shoes, I'd be furious with me too. 

I pause outside her door, listening. I'm certain I can hear her muffled voice deep in conversation, but the thick walls prove to be the best secret keepers. I wonder who she's speaking to, curbing the swift tide of jealousy by focusing on a sky full of stars beyond the window, feeling tiny under its vast expanse.

When her voice is at last swallowed by silence, I knock a few times, entering when she beckons me softly. Her face is bare, hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders, so fucking beautiful it hurts like an ache I can't reach. I want nothing more than to close the distance between us and kiss her sweet lips, but the steely glint in her eyes tells me to stay where I am.

I lean against the wall, bracing my hands behind my back for support.

"I came to say...I'm sorry..."

"What are you sorry for?" Her words are a challenge.

"For today. For being absent all day. For throwing you at my family. God, for... everything."

 _Come on Sid, you can do better_. My words are a disaster, and sure enough, when I look up at Charlotte she looks completely unimpressed.

"Please, don't flatter yourself. I'm a big girl, I can handle your family while you do what you need to do." She pauses, her gaze burning into mine while she gathers her thoughts. "What I can't handle is being reduced to simply a "friend" when--"

"When what, Char?"

"...when I thought we were so much more. Is that really all I am to you, Sidney?"

"No, of course not!" 

My heart beats double time at the hurt plastered across her face, knowing I put it there. I wonder what she'd do if I said fuck it, and folded her into my arms. Would she melt into me, or would she push me away like she did earlier? Do I want to risk tasting rejection twice in a single day?

"Then what am I to you Sid? Friends with benefits?"

"Char, no--"

"Fuck buddies, then? Is that what we are?" Her voice rises an octave, til she's almost shouting.

"NO! We're...you're--" _everything to me. You're the face I see when I touch water. You remind me of how good it can get, and I love you. I fucking love you._

But, of course, I say none of that. 

"Do you know what it was like listening to Tom talk all day about how great you and Eliza are together? Did you even think about that, hmmm? Are you ashamed of me, is that it?"

The words pour out of her in a rush of heated anger. I step toward her, but she backs herself into the window, tears streaming down her face.

"Charlotte," her name is a whisper on my breath. "How could you think that's true for even a second? You're enough. You've always been more than enough--"

" _Am I Sidney?_ Because if you can't admit the truth about us to your family, then what am I even doing here?"

I snap then, every bit of restraint holding me together evaporating into thin air as I invade her space, stopping just short of touching her. Reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, my fingers curve under her jaw bringing her gaze to meet mine in the silvery moonlight.

"Stop, ok? Just-- stop..."

"No!" she says defiantly. "I deserve better than a guy who doesn't care enough to check up on me once--"

"Fucking hell Char! Yeah, you _do_ deserve better, and I'm sorry...but you're fixating on a word that was a mistake to start with!" I drop my hand from her face, backing away to sit on the bed. "I choked this morning, ok? We've never had to define what we are to others, and I choked on the words because nothing seems adequate enough to describe what you mean to me!"

It's only when I stop talking that I realize how hard I was shouting. My throat hurts from the effort of laying myself bare. Not once did I expect us to spiral like this, picking ourselves apart until there's nothing left.

Charlotte's glassy eyes meet mine for a moment before looking away. Even now, all I want to do is kiss her, holding her still until we piece us back together.

"I think you should go," she says quietly.

_Wait--what?_

"Look me in the eye and say it like you mean it, or so help me, I'll slip into bed with you and hold us together until we forget this ever happened."

My voice is hoarse, desperate. I feel like I'm losing her before the goodbye I'll never be ready to say. Slowly, her head tilts up, eyes boring into mine.

"Please, just...leave. I need some space.

I nod, pretending to understand when I don't. I'm gripped with the sudden need to get out of this room, out of this house, to be as far away as possible from this fucked up day.

I'm almost out the door, when her voice catches up with me. I pause with my hand on the knob, not bothering to look back.

"Sidney?"

"Yeah?"

"You'll be at the memorial tomorrow, right?" 

If I think I hear hope in her words, I convince myself it's a cruel trick of the heart.

"Doesn't matter, does it?," I say gently, "Not like you care."

And then I'm gone, taking the stairs two at a time, jumping the bannister when I'm close enough to the bottom, pulling my keys from my back pocket, driving down the road to nowhere recklessly fast.

* * *

My mind is gloriously empty as I drive, and yet every song that plays on the radio reminds me of Charlotte. Of loving her, and losing her, and saying shit I didn't mean. When I can't take it anymore, I flick off the music, embracing the disquieting silence of my own thoughts. Honestly, it's not much better.

I drive around in circles, torn between staying and leaving, before finally pulling over on the shoulder by the turnpike. Up ahead there's a one way bridge over a river that runs dry unless it rains. To anyone else, it's just another stretch of road, but I know better. My blood runs deep within the crevices of the old pavement, mixing with my parents', flowing fast and slow into the trickling river down below.

This is where it happened, the reason I'm back to say goodbye. For the second time in twelve years I fall asleep in the place where my nightmares began, dreaming of drowning in rain and blood and tears, while Charlotte's voice urges me to hold on tight. 

When I wake up, it's to the realization that this is my second chance. I don't want to let go, not yet. Not when I've got mistakes to make and so much to life to live.

It's past Ten when I get back to the house, and everyone has already left. I freshen up quickly before heading up to the cemetery, fully aware that the memorial is almost over. It's all good, though...I don't need an audience for what I need to say.

As I near the site, I hang back under a willow tree, observing the small gathering of friends and family paying their respects. I see Babington next to Esther, her red hair flaming in the sun as she leans into him. I see Arthur, hilariously using Tom as a buffer between him and Diana...some of my aunts and uncles, and even a few high school friends I haven't seen in years. But mostly, I see Charlotte's beautifully sad face when it meets mine, as if sensing my presence. I offer a tiny wave, and she smiles a little before turning away.

These are the people who meant something to my parents, in one way or another. Their legacy isn't material...it lives and breathes in the ones who remember them. In this moment, I wish hard that Tom could see the incredible beauty of their loss as an opportunity to simply be content.

When most of the crowd clears away I walk tentatively up to their gravestones. I've never visited them here, only ever in my dreams and it feels surreal.

Before I can get too close, there's a light touch on my shoulder, and somehow, I know it's Charlotte.

"You came." 

Her eyes shine brightly with unshed tears. I cup her face and lean down to kiss her cheek.

"Yeah, I came. Couldn't disappoint my girl, could I?"

There's so much we need to say to each other. Apologies to make, lessons to learn, but I need to do this first.

"Sid--"

"Can we talk in a bit? Up at the house? I need to do this before I lose my nerve. No more running, I promise."

She nods hesitantly before walking away, her face masked with an unreadable expression. I won't think much of it until much, much later, once the dust has settled.

I take a deep breath, kneeling by my parents' resting place. Trembling fingers trace the finality of their names etched in stone.

_Joanna Parker David Parker_

_1960-2008 1958-2008_

_I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)_

I don't know how long I sit there with my parents in the grass. A million thoughts race through my mind until finally, the dam inside me breaks with words that come flooding out in a mess of relieved tears.

" _Hey Mom...Hey Dad, I'm sorry I took so long...,"_ I stop, plucking at the grass as I search for the right words,".. _.but I'm here now. For a long time, I was afraid. I guess I still am, but I'm ok with that. All the times I miss you only prove how much I love you, and I miss you a whole damn lot...."_

* * *

I stay with them for long moments, trying to make up for lost time.

I wish I could say I felt better afterward, but I didn't. Absence replaced avoidance, and brought with it the weight of its own burden. I did feel stronger though, and as I walked back, I felt ready to face the world head on, with Charlotte by my side.

Nothing could have prepared me for the silver sedan racing down the drive as I approached the house, kicking up dust in its wake. I wasn't ready for my eyes to collide with Charlotte's in the passenger seat as a strange man drove away with her.

My heart slides sickeningly into the pit of my stomach. I'm so fucking confused, unable to make sense of what's happening, even as my mind races trying to figure out if I missed something. Why would she leave without telling me? Has she given up? Is this it, are we done?

A warm hand grips my shoulder from behind. I feel like I can't breathe.

"Arthur, what the actual fuck is happening?"

His voice is melancholy, too sad to describe.

"Sid, you need to let her go..."

  
  



	29. CHARLOTTE

(CHARLOTTE)

_Misunderstandings are the leading cause of heartbreak._

This should be the cautionary label attached to every love story. But, when emotion overpowers our ability to reason, it's even easier for a misunderstanding to seep its way into a relationship. And once it does, the purity and honesty are slowly polluted with doubt, pain and suspicion. As James drives me away, my eyes collide with the pleading eyes of Sidney Parker, the man I love. I felt it then, the poisonous prick of the major misunderstanding that sabotaged the pristine fairytale we had built to avoid the immense sorrow in our separate lives… I hope he reads my letter.

* * *

(HOURS EARLIER)

An urgent knock at my door wakes me up from the turbulent slumber of the night. I didn't let him explain himself last night. I judged him so harshly because of my own insecurities. Dragging myself out of bed, I open the door, hoping it's him. I'm sure I look like crap, my hair in complete disarray, dark circles under my eyes, awful morning breath… I can’t hide my utter disappointment when I see Arthur at the door. 

“Good morning to you too, Char!” He notices my displeasure quickly, but seems to brush it off right away. “Where is Sid?” He looks around, pulling the bed cover impatiently.

I raise my eyebrows, as I yawn, trying to arrange my hair.

“Not here. We had an argument last night. I was unkind… He's probably in his room.”

“No, he's not, and Tom is going nuts! He thinks Sid chickened out. The car is gone too…”

“Wait… Do you think he left? He's not coming to the memorial?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. He _hates_ coming home. He hates the memorial. He hates Tom getting into his business.” Arthur slumps onto the bed, defeated. “The whole thing between you two must have been the tip of the iceberg.”

I feel his gaze, and I know that he's angry with me. I'm angry with me too. There is nothing like a cool morning breeze bolting through the window to give you some perspective. 

“So, what happened last night?” Arthur seems worried.

“He tried to explain himself, but I cut him off. I… erm…was just so hurt.” _And stupid,_ but it’s hard for me to admit that out loud. 

“Well, he deserved it though… with that whole “friend” idiocy. This place really gets to him. He loses his confidence. And, man, Tom can be such an insensitive jackass.” Arthur paces back and forth. “I tried calling, but his phone went straight to voicemail.” 

“He's not going to miss it. I just have a feeling about this.” I try to sound as reassuring as possible. “Now, I should get dressed...and packed.”

Arthur turns sharply towards me, the obvious question hanging at the tip of his tongue. “My brother called last night...He's coming to get me after the memorial.” I look down, dreading Arthur’s reply.

“Your brother called??” His voice fills the room. “You finally found each other?!” There's excitement and incredulity in his voice. 

“Yes, he called. I was upset last night, so… he offered to pick me up. I think that I'm out of place here, Arthur. I don’t know where I fit in Sidney’s heart, and I dread being an intruder.”

“Char, you are _not_ an intruder! We asked you to come here. And, are you serious about not knowing your place in Sidney’s heart?!” 

Actually, I'm very serious about that. I've never had reason to doubt his attachment, but after the past few days, it feels like he's slipping away. Perhaps we both need space. While it's conceivable that he loves me, he might not be ready to commit until he deals with his own demons. And, of course, I'm the girl with no memories or, well, barely any meaningful ones. My starving soul got filled up too quickly with feelings so intense that they started pouring out of me, unruly and thunderous.

* * *

As I walk outside the house, waiting for Arthur, Tom huffs and puffs loudly.

“Oh, Charlotte! Have you seen Sidney?”

“Not since last night.” My voice is barely a mumble.

“I wonder where he is! He is your friend, isn’t he? Didn’t he tell you where he went?"

“He… we… no.” I walk away in the direction of the cars that have gathered in front of Sanditon House. 

“Char!” I hear Esther’s familiar voice. “Come, ride with us!” She looks in the direction of the entrance. “Isn’t Sidney joining you?”

“He's not here.” 

I attempt to keep my composure. She gives me an inquiring look. I motion for her not to say anything. I don’t want Babbers to be privy to this conversation. Arthur joins us a few minutes later and we all head towards the cemetery. No one utters a single word. 

The procession of people, dressed in black, is a bit overwhelming. I search for Sid in the multitude, but I know he is not there even before we arrive. I don’t feel the pull. 

Tom gives the opening remarks, and the closing ones too. I am distracted by the heaviness of the sorrow surrounding me. I understand why Sid did not want to come here. It feels like the kind of event that will serve as a permanent reminder of the immense loss of two parents who raised and loved their children in a home of laughter and harmony. 

And then, I look at each one individually and it hits me hard. The tragedy has impacted each life. Tom is overwhelming and imposing, trying to replace the fatherly figure in the family. Arthur is cheerful and wise, attempting to bring normalcy in a family that will never be the same. Diana is a frantic hypochondriac, too scared to live her life fully. And then, I see Sidney in the distance, the family’s constant reminder of this tragedy, because he is the only one who survived it. Such a heavy cross to carry… I wish to kiss his pain away, to soothe his wounds with my embrace, to whisper sweetness in his ear.

Tears flow down my face, a steady trickle of salty pearls, reminding me that before we can live again, we will both have to face the ugly truths in our past. And, if those memories do not destroy us, we may find our way back to each other. Because, the magic that pulls us, the serendipity of our meeting, is beyond us both. This is when I decide to tell him all of this, to wait for him after the memorial. It’s the only chance I’ll have. And, if he wants to hear me out, he’ll open his heart to me. 

My phone vibrates in my pocket. It must be James telling me that he is on his way. 

* * *

Our encounter at the memorial did not go as planned. I had so little time to talk and so many words to share, but he needed time to think in private, so that he could finally say the right words in front of the cold stone where his parents lay buried. And, just like that, the cruelty of circumstances stole the last chance we had to make amends. 

I ride back with Esther and Babbers. She observes me closely.

“What happened?” She whispers. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I'm exhausted. “I'm leaving Sanditon. My brother is coming to pick me up.”

As I say this, Babbers shifts nervously in his seat. 

“Why is your brother picking you up, Char? What's going on?,” he asks, turning his head towards me. Esther points in the direction of the road with that Esther look.

“Babs, dear, watch the road, would’ ya?”

She sends me a text. I love Esther. She always finds a way to get what she wants. 

“WHAT IS GOING ON??”

“Sid and I had a fight. He told Tom that I am his FRIEND…”

“WHAAAAAAAAT???????”

She gives me a shocked look, her mouth agape. I nod my head to show her that I don’t know why. Her fingers are poking at the phone screen voraciously as she sends me the next text.

“I will have Babs find out what the ACTUAL FUCK is going on here!”

My eyes implore, as I type my reply into my phone.

“Esther, please let me handle this on my own time. Sid and I need to work this out. PLEASE!”

She stares at her phone screen. She is obviously debating how to reply. I brush her hand gently and she looks up. A tiny tear curves around my cheek, but her eagle eye zeroes in on it immediately. She squeezes my hand between her hands, nodding in agreement. 

At last in front of Sanditon House, Esther gets out of the car to give me a hug.

“Stay strong, Char, and don’t give up on him. He loves you.” She holds on to my shoulders, staring intensely into my soul. “You need to trust me on this!”

I head straight to the guest room, where my stuff is packed and ready for my departure. I have less than an hour to write the most important letter of my life. 

* * *

_Sidney,_

_We stumbled into each other’s lives most unexpectedly. Me - a lost soul - devoid of the memories that made me who I am. I came to your class to search for answers, to find meaning, to rediscover my essence, because I believed that a wholesome soul would lead me to my past. Instead, I found you. The pull towards you was so powerful, and I allowed myself to feel safe in its overwhelming presence because you made me whole again._

_But the truth is, the hurricane of emotions that filled the void was more than I was prepared for, and, this trip revealed my weakness. The thing is, I don’t want to be just friends. And, while under any other circumstances, I would welcome your friendship, my heart wants so much more._

_A whirlwind of misunderstandings, missed opportunities, and other people’s expectations led to this crossroads. And it happened so fast, and our emotions are so raw, that we ended up missing each other - two ships in the night. I judged too harshly. I guarded my heart too zealously. I should have allowed you to explain…_

_I am not running. I'm simply leaving, to give you the space I think you need. I haven’t given up on you, on me, on us. You can find me, if and when you're ready. Because I'll be waiting. Don’t take too long. _

_Your Charlotte_

* * *

I address it to him and leave it on the desk in the guest room, as James calls me to come down. I grab my bags and head out, no time to say goodbye. The only goodbye that was truly important is in my letter. I jump in the car, overtaken by emotion, forgetting for a moment that the person in the driver’s seat is my brother…

“Char! Are you alright?” I remember that voice. I remember it so well it hurts. Any remaining tears are trickling across my face. I am incredibly sad for the way Sidney and I are parting, but also ecstatic to be sitting next to James. 

Seeing him brings back an avalanche of memories. Us as children, teenagers, adults. I am breathless from the experience. 

“Let’s go.” I manage to utter. “I need some air.” As he speeds out of the gravel driveway, I sense Sidney’s pull. Our eyes lock in for just a second.

Confusion. Pain. A million unanswered questions. 


	30. ARTHUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say how much I love Arthur? Sid's up next, but this needed to happen.

(ARTHUR)

 _"They say blood is thicker than water. But I remember plenty of times when water was there and blood wasn't. " - (unknow_ n)

My hand remains on his shoulder long after his breathing has stilled, and the only remnant of Charlotte's quick escape is the residue of dust on our mourning clothes. Sidney's unnatural stillness irks me to the bone. Not that he was ever a talker, but I expected anger, a fair bit of swearing...for him to bring the fucking storm, raising hell until he finds the answers he needs.

But when he makes no move to follow her, I know that the fine balance that held them together has broken, perhaps beyond repair. When he does nothing, except stand in the silence of her wake, I feel anger bloom like hell fire across my chest on his behalf. And when I see his face, hard and cold, with eyes sadder than a summer storm, I know-- _I know_ she didn't tell him she was leaving.

True to form, Charlotte told me instead. Trusty, dependable Arthur, go-betweener extraordinaire. She left him high and dry when he needed her most, leaving me to smooth it over, but I'm done. I'm so fucking done with this bullshit. I know she's got more issues than a pen's got ink, and I know they both let each other down...but no one, not even the love of his life, gets to do this to my brother. He's had to live with a darkness none of us can even begin to comprehend, and somehow still manages to function better on his worst days than I do on my best.

Now, I'm not saying he's perfect, because he's _not_. I mean, he drinks way too much coffee and has a horrible poker face and can't cook for beans. But despite all that, he deserves better. He deserves someone who understands that he's allowed to mess up once in a while, because _fuck it,_ he's only human. Bottomline. 

Slowly, I release Sidney's shoulder, turning around so that I'm standing parallel to him. I speak calmly, measuring my words with care.

"You're sure she didn't text? Call? Nothing?... _anything_?" I pause, grasping at straws. "What if she left a note or something...up in your room--- or hers?"

"I'm not going into that fucking guest room again," he growls.

As a serial optimist, I can't keep hope from seeping into my voice. I want him to frantically check his phone for messages, to act like he knows what a goddamn disaster this is, but instead he runs a shaky hand through his hair, eyes glazing over me to stare up at the house. I follow his gaze, absorbing the steady stream of people trickling inside from the memorial.

"So, what? You're just gonna give up like that?"

"We should head back up to the house..." he deadpans, ignoring my question. 

"Sid, come on! Don't walk away-- let's talk about this!"

"...Mary probably needs some help." He shrugs. "Might as well make myself useful."

He begins walking up the long drive, not bothering to wait for me.

"Sid!," I call, huffing after him. "You can't ignore this! God...you can't pretend you don't love her!"

He stops, pivoting slowly on his heel to glare at me. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he pulls himself up to his full height, eyes so empty that I barely recognize him.

"Watch me." He spits the words out like poison, clenching his jaw tightly before jetting back to the house at a sprint.

"Well, shit," I mutter to myself, too out of breath to follow.

After that fun little exchange, three things are now abundantly clear to me. First up, I lied. I'm _not_ done trying to save my brother and his one true love. (Major eye roll). Secondly, being angry makes me fucking hungry. Somebody better feed me, and fast. Lastly, I'm going to need reinforcements because this is shaping up to be a shit show.

* * *

Sidney wastes no time throwing himself into Mary's service once inside. Despite her many protests, she seems grateful for the help since Tom is nowhere in sight. 

I lounge shamelessly at the bar, shoveling appetizers down my throat at an alarming rate, eyeing him like a hawk as he works the room seving canapés and topping up drinks. For the most part he ignores me, but every once in a while he shoots me a dirty look. 

I don't mind. It's my god-given right to bug the hell out of him until he sees sense.

Just then, the chair beside me scrapes back along the floor, disturbing my train of thought.

"You summoned me?"

Babington lands in the chair with a thud. From where he stands across the room, Sid narrows his eyes at the two of us, shooting daggers. I smile innocently, waving at him until he turns away.

"Hmmm. Operation damage control. We've gotta move fast."

Babbers stares into the bottom of his shot glass like it offers salvation. Closing his eyes, he winces.

"Jesus. How bad is it?"

"Pretty fucking bad. Nuclear. Apocalyptic--"

"OK, ok, I get it! It's...bad."

"Listen, you know how he gets. Coming back here was huge for him..."

"Yeah, I know," says Babbers quietly, nodding his agreement. "Why hasn't he called her though? If Esther took off on me, her phone would be ringing off the hook."

"Apparently they had a _huge_ fight last night. Char didn't tell him she was leaving, and now he's pretending that he's ok. Like-- I dunno, like he'll be just fine without her."

"I knew it! I knew something was up in the car!" He pounds his hand furiously on the bar top. "Char and Esther were texting each other like mad after the memorial. Didn't want me to know what was going on..."

"Fuuuuuuuuuck. Why can't they just talk to each other?"

"Beats me." 

I bury my face in my hands, thoroughly exasperated by how two people who love each other this much can get it so wrong, over and over again. I wish that I could duct tape them together, letting them fight, scream, whatever, until they kiss and make up. 

This whole messed up situation is like a scab that won't heal. _Pick, ooze, repeat_. I don't even know why this matters so much to me, but it does. It matters that Sid is happy. It matters because he's better with Charlotte, because I know that despite all his grumbling, he'd do the same for me.

I groan helplessly. "What do we do, Babs?" 

"I have no fucking clue. And truthfully...I don't know how much we _can_ do." 

"That’s a really shitty answer, which I absolutely refuse to accept. What kind of wingman are you anyway?"

He smirks. "The kind that wants to get laid later."

"Despicable." 

I glare at him, and we both laugh before Babbers breaks off, sighing deeply while he surveys the room. Taking a swig of his drink, he bites back the burn, scratching his head in apparent confusion.

"All I can say is that we'll have to find him before we can put this love heist into motion..."

My head snaps up to follow his slightly panicked gaze. _Well I'll be damned._ Looks like my brother just pulled a disappearing act.

* * *

We find him down by the lake twenty minutes later, sunken into an oversized Muskoka chair along the shore. He's watching Jenny and Henry race boats in the shallows, cheering them on from the sidelines. His shirt is untucked, stained with bits of food, and his dress shoes are floating lazily downstream.

Yep, the bastard really threw his shoes in.

We flank him, taking up residence in neighboring chairs. He scrunches up his face, swearing fiercely under his breath when he realizes that he's not alone.

"Kill me now," he mutters. "Why the fuck are there two of you? Can't a man get a moment's peace?"

"Not when that man's acting like a jackass about his girlfriend running off to sort herself out, and refuses to get off his lazy butt to do anything about it."

"I think what Arthur means to say is that... _if_ you care about her, you should call. There's no rule saying you can't be the first to reach out, no matter what happened."

"I don't care for her--"

Sidney stops talking abruptly, opening and closing his mouth several times in quick succession before deciding against saying anything more. Babington grimaces, his eyes darting up to meet mine in shocked surprise.

"What do you mean, Sid? Of course you care!"

"I mean...I don't _just_ care. I--"

"You love her," I say gently, sensing his struggle to say the words that will change everything. "You love her, and that's why this is ripping you apart."

He nods, blowing off steam as he stares off into the distance. A few moments later, he leans forward, resting his arms on his knees and clasping them together.

"I keep thinking, you know, what if I'd just let her speak at the memorial? What if I'd just listened? She had this look on her face, like--"

"Like what?," asks Babbers.

"God, I don't know." He rests his chin on his hands, shutting his eyes tight, as if envisioning the moment in his mind's eye. "Like she was about to say something important...and I'm pissed at myself being so caught up in my own shit that I cut her off."

"She _knew_ why you came back, bro."

I mean for the words to reassure him, but as soon as they're spoken, he erupts in pent-up frustration.

" _See, that's the thing that gets me_!," he hisses forcefully. "She should have said something. Fuck the fight. Fuck every single horrible thing we said to each other. This is the second time she's run off when things got tough and BOTH times she told _you_ , Arthur, not me! She should have said something." He stops, breathing hard, fraying at the seams. "I would have listened."

I can feel the colour rising in my cheeks, because he's right. I can see how it must be hard for him to believe that Charlotte loves him when he feels like she doesn't trust him with even the smallest things.

Babbers leans forward so that he's eye level with Sidney.

"Listen, a lot of what you're feeling is probably adrenaline from your first major fight as a couple. Esther tells me she hates me at least once a day." He shrugs, smiling. "We get over it..."

"Does Esther up and leave at the drop of a hat without telling you where she is, or where she's going?"

Babbers looks at me imploringly, but what can I say that could possibly help? 

"Well no," he says slowly, "but Lord knows that woman doesn't suffer from self doubt. She knows exactly who she is at all times. Uhm...my point is--"

"Babbers, _shut up_. Just, shut up." I roll my eyes at him. "His point is that you're going to regret just letting her go."

Sidney stands abruptly, hands on his hips as he stares out at the lake, or maybe at nothing in particular. His breaths come like heavy footfalls, leaving tracks in their wake.

"I'm allowed to feel this way, ok?" He glances heatedly at me. "Wasn't it you who told me that nothing in life is guaranteed? If you love someone you fucking say goodbye, even if it hurts, because you might not get a second chance."

He turns around then, shoulders sagging, focusing his tired eyes on the two of us. I see with startling clarity what this is costing him, suddenly understanding that his anger, his unnamed sadness, transcends the rift between him and Charlotte. This is the ugly face of his trauma, all his insecurities laid bare in his love for a single woman. It's the face of a man constantly in the process of letting go.

"Thanks for the pep talk, guys. I'm out."

Sidney’s voice brings me back to the present. As we watch him stalk away, Babbers deflates, looking the way I feel. Like we've both failed him.

* * *

(When it's dark...)

I don't know what wakes me that night. Maybe it's the unnatural chill radiating from my still open window. Perhaps it's my rumbling stomach, now empty after eating my body weight in hors d'oeuvres much earlier. But likely, it's the gnawing sensation in my gut, telling me that Charlotte wouldn't have left without somehow trying to explain herself to Sid. Her static silence feels all kinds of wrong for the type of person I know her to be, and before falling asleep I'd made up my mind to ask her about the circumstances of her inexplicable departure.

As far as I'm concerned, Sid doesn't know what's good for him. He could take his stubbornness and stick it where the sun don’t shine, thanking me later for nosing around in his business.

The clock on my nightstand reads 12:14 am. Darkness blankets me with its inky wings as I sit up in bed, rubbing my arms frantically for warmth. I've outgrown this old room, outgrown the old me in this tiny life tinged with tragedy. I'm hit with a strange wave of yearning for my room in Sid's bright apartment, more home than this ever was. 

Reluctantly, I slide onto the floor intending to crawl over to the window and pull it shut. (Don't judge me harshly, I'm exhausted). Halfway across the floor, I hear it, so faint the first time I'm convinced I'm imagining things. Continuing my slow path, I hear it again moments later, the metallic slap of surfaces colliding, a tinny ringing in my ears.

My heart rate increases tenfold, booming and thudding in my chest as I gasp shallowly for air. _What if there's been a break in? The kids are just down the hall, are they safe?_ I make a quick decision, rising silently to grab the baseball bat by the foot of my bed, and slipping out of my room into the pitch black hallway.

It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. All is unnaturally still, except for a faint glimmer of light pulsating from under the door of the guest room. Screwing up my courage, I slide along the wood floors, inwardly cursing the house for being creaky and old 

I push the door open with the bat, fully intending to hit an intruder back to hell. I'm not prepared for the perplexing sight that greets me.

" _Tom_?" He turns, startled by my presence

"What the fuck are you doing in here at this hour? You scared the shit outta me!"

"It's my house, Arthur. I have a right to be in here whenever I please."

His answer strikes me as odd, but odder still is the whiff of smoke I detect, a gray tendril snaking up into the air behind him.

I don’t think before I barrel into him, knocking the smoky contents of the metal waste paper can to the ground and stamping out the contents.

"Arthur--!" Tom's voice is whiny, edged with desperation as he makes to pull me back from my slow descent. "Arthur, stop it! This is a private matter!"

But it's too late, because my fingers are already sorting through the warm, ashy remains of what appears to be a letter. Most of it crumbles at the touch, but the writing is all too familiar. I can only make out a few disjointed words and phrases, which I lay in a line on the ground.

_Rediscover my...search for answers... missing each other...under any other circumstances... simply leaving..revealed my weakness..._

There are other half-burnt words and phrases, so jumbled they're hard to make sense of. One thing, however, is crystal clear - this was Charlotte's goodbye, her explanation to Sid of why she needed to leave.

Anger rises like a tidal wave within me, quick and blinding. I don't think I've ever been this enraged in my entire life. As I stand to face Tom, he backs away from the accusation of betrayal written plain across my face.

"How could you?," I whisper shakily, pointing my finger into his chest. "Who the hell gave you the right to burn this?"

"I came in here t--to put away some supplies from the party..."

"And you found the letter, and read it."

It's not a question as much as it is a statement of fact. He swallows hard, nodding.

"I had no idea they were together..."

"That's because you have your head up your ass most of the time. What possessed you to destroy Charlotte's note?"

I rub a fragment of paper between my fingers, watching in fascination as the ash colours them muted shades of gray and black.

"She left Arthur, for no reason other than being overwhelmed by him. _By us_. You know he doesn't deal well with loss. I-- I was trying to save him the heartbreak."

His eyes are shifty, and I know he's not telling the whole truth. His dishonesty slices deep and I feel anger explode in my chest, pouring from my mouth in a loud rush of messy words.

"I really fucking hate you right now, Tom. You're selfish, always have been. This wasn't your decision to make!"

"Arthur, I didn't mean to-- I'm so sorry. "

I'm not interested in his half-hearted apology. I don't care that he recoils from the brutality of my statement. He crossed a line, and he needs to know that he was wrong. He needs to feel something for someone other than himself.

Behind us, the door creaks open, revealing a thoroughly disheveled, bleary-eyed Sidney. He runs an agitated hand up and down his face.

"Can you two shut it? I'm trying to get some sleep...also, I'm pretty sure there's nothing important enough to shout about at one in the morning.

He's halfway out the door when my reply halts him in his tracks.

"Actually, there is." I turn toward Tom, my lips curving into a ruthless smile. "Go ahead, _brother_ , tell him what you did."


	31. SIDNEY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to everyone who's as invested in our storyline as we are. We value your enthusiasm, and all of your comments mean so much to us!
> 
> As to this chapter, some things are simply unavoidable...

(SIDNEY)

" _That ugly part of your story that you're living through right now is gonna be one of the most powerful parts of your testimony."_

I went to sleep thinking about her and woke up dreaming of her, twisting and turning until I was almost catatonic with need for her naked body against mine. I missed the way we fit into each other’s empty spaces, imagined kissing where her pulse thrummed in her veins just to know I was alive. I thought about how just a few nights ago, I went to sleep with her in my arms, never once imagining that I'd be alone when I needed her most. I dreamed about her leaving until the trauma of her loss hurt too much and my eyes opened to the blunt realization that I has hopelessly in love with the only woman who had the power to break my heart.

I'd turned in ridiculously early that night. The day's events had emotionally exhausted me, leaving me wrung out, and weary to the bone. I didn't feel like socializing. I rebelled against insignificant smalltalk in a place that now held another brutal loss, and quite frankly, the prospect of being ambushed by Arthur yet again held even less appeal.

But now as I lay blinking mindlessly at the ceiling in the dark, I regretted forcing myself to sleep. The night is dark and infinitely lonely. It plays on every insecurity, multiplying your fears until you feel suffocated by them. Groaning into my pillow, I rolled onto my back. Two seconds later, I began fighting with the sheets before kicking them off in heated frustration. When that didn't help, I shifted onto my side, reaching out to where Charlotte would normally lay sleeping beside me. 

"Fuck. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_."

Punching the pillow, I sat up in bed, watching my feet as they landed heavily on the cold floor _. I missed her._ No matter what I did, there was no escaping that fact. No amount of cursing could soothe the terrible ache she'd left because I was angry with her, and with myself for trusting that she was different. Cradling my head in my hands, I replayed those last moments with her in the cemetery, fixating on every gesture, every word, wondering if I'd somehow missed something important. 

Slowly, the voices in my head became louder and louder, until I realized with a start that they weren't inside my head at all. No, these were very real and not of my own making. My ears strained with the effort of eavesdropping on what I supposed was meant to be a private conversation, and I'd almost made my mind up to just go back to sleep when the familiarity of an urgent voice put me on high alert.

Was that-- _Arthur?_ \-- talking, no, shouting? At this hour? What the fuck was going on?

Incoherent thoughts flooded my mind as I charged from the room in search of him, knocking down and almost slipping on a glass of water in my haste. I knew something was wrong because nothing less than screaming could permeate these thick old walls. But more than that, I'd never heard Arthur raise his voice once in my life. Nag? _Yes_. Whine? _All the time_. But shout? _Never_.

I race down the hall, half-awake and somewhat delirious, barging into Arthur's room only to be met with four empty walls. Turning, I retraced my steps, restlessly thinking that I could never forgive myself if anything were to happen to him.

 _Where was_ _he?_ My eyes do a frenzied sweep of the darkened hallway, resting on a dim light emanating from the crease under the guest room door. I follow the sound of muffled voices with trepidation, barely registering the acrid whiff of smoke in the air 

My heart nearly explodes in my chest as I push the door open, because fuck, I can't help hoping that Charlotte's come back.

* * *

Instead of Charlotte, I'm met with the unexpected sight of Arthur and Tom yelling at each other in the dead of night.

My eyes blink open and close a thousand times, sliding between the two of them as I try to decipher their argument. Arthur's face is beet red, looking like he'll spontaneously combust at any given moment, while Tom looks nauseous at the sight of me.

"Go ahead _brother_. Tell him what you did."

At Arthur’s cryptic words, my head swivels toward Tom in absolute confusion. Nothing makes an iota of sense. Not this room, not the late hour and most of all, not the fury radiating from Arthur toward the brother he's always been indifferent to.

"Someone wanna tell me what the actual fuck is going on?" I step further into the room, squinting my eyes at them. "How about you, Tom?"

"Sidney, calm down!" He grimaces, looking shady as hell. "As I told Arthur, this is a private matter. Nothing for you to worry about..."

Arthur throws himself at Tom, fists clenched menacingly. My eyes bulge at his reaction because I can't even remotely fathom a situation that would have him this riled up.

"You little shit!," he seethes. "He deserves to know!"

"Arthur--" I step between my brothers hoping to diffuse the tension.

"No, Sidney! What he did was fucking wrong and I'm ashamed to call him my brother." He glances up at Tom, his voice laced with bitter disappointment. 

I exhale my frustration, suddenly exhausted with a day that just keeps getting worse.

"I can't believe I need to say this again, but will one of you please tell me what the hell this is all about? Because I had a really shit day and I'd like to get some sleep before I die."

"He burned the letter," says Arthur simply, as if I know what he's on about.

"Back up...what letter?"

Arthur holds up the ashy remnants of burnt paper, his fingers stained with charcoal. I reach out questioningly to examine the contents of his sweaty palm. At first, I don't get it. My only thought is, _who the fuck writes letters anymore?_ But as my eyes knowingly trace the shape of the familiar writing, I feel sick with suspicion of something I hope isn't true.

"Charlotte?," I breathe, voice breaking with hope. "Charlotte left...a letter? _For me?_ "

Arthur nods sadly, reaching out to grip my arm as I grapple with the enormity of what this means. She didn't just leave.... but she also left her note in a place where it could easily fall into the wrong hands. _Clearly_.

"Yeah Sid, she did. And this dumb fuck burned it."

When I look up at Tom, his face is pale with fear.

"Why would you do that?" I whisper, caressing the broken words in my hand. "How did you even know it was here?"

"I came up to put some supplies away--"

"In the guest room?"

"Yes." He rubs his neck skittishly, avoiding eye contact. "Don't be mad, but after she left like that, I read the letter hoping to save you further pain. And I was quite right to do so." 

"You were right?," I shout, before desperately attempting to control my building rage. "What do you mean? What did she say?" 

My heart squeezes with a pain I've never felt before. I look between my brothers, hoping to garner some small comfort, but their expressions are both grim.

"She left you, Sidney," says Tom self-righteously. "She couldn't deal with your past, or this family, so she left. Something about finding herself...and that while her time with you was great, yada yada, she needed to go."

"I don't believe you." I shake my head in disbelief. "That doesn't sound like the Charlotte I know..."

"No, it doesn't," Arthur adds, glaring at Tom.

"But how much do you actually know about this girl, Sidney? Sure, she's a pretty little thing, but she just drops out of the sky into your life, and voila! That's that?"

Anger blooms in my chest, hot and fast, bleeding into my consciousness until all I see is red. I know her enough to know that I love her, and I don't need to justify that to anyone, least of all my sorry excuse of a brother.

"My love life is none of your business, Tom!"

"Come on, Sid." He scoffs incredulously. "You and I both know you need someone strong to stand by our-- your side. Someone who can withstand the pressures of being in this family." He looks at me pleadingly, but I feel nothing inside. "Eliza, for instance--"

"Shut your face, Thomas Parker, and stop spewing filth!" Arthur skewers Tom's chest with his finger. "That woman is a she-devil and you know it!"

"She is rich and beautiful, and her family has a long history with ours. What more could Sidney possibly want?"

"Shut up!" I yell. "Both of you, just-- shut up."

I can almost feel their necks snap in my direction, my body sagging with the effort of holding myself together when all I want to do is scream. Anger runs like poison in my veins, synapses like rapid-fire trying to piece this puzzle together. But the thing I'm really having trouble with is that Tom's story doesn't add up. Not even a little.

"What exactly were you putting away in here when you found the letter?," I ask.

"Just some linens...a box or two of odds and ends. From the party." 

I look around, taking in the sparse contents of the room.

"But Mary keeps that stuff in the downstairs linen closet. Just like mom did."

He pulls at his ear like he did when we were kids and he was caught in a lie. I find it odd that Tom, whose bedroom is in the new addition, felt it imperative to do an unnecessary chore at this time of night, coincidentally happening on Charlotte's letter in the process. I push past him, ignoring his numerous protests, to pull open the room's only closet.

It's empty, except for a pair of bath towels. I grip the doorknob as if it holds the cure for my rage.

"There's nothing here!," I hiss angrily, while Arthur gasps audibly in the background. "How about you tell me the truth, for once? How about that, huh, Tom? Did Charlotte tell you she left a note for me? Did you burn it on purpose?"

"Sidney...I would never!," he insists gravely. "I thought only to lessen the blow. _Don't you_ _see_?-- I was helping you, making it easier to move on. I know Eliza would take you back in an instant, she told me so herself!"

I step toward him, clenching my fists so hard they hurt. My breaths come hard and jagged, interspersed between harsh words.

"Even the sky couldn't cover up all your lies, Tom! You're fucking impossible, you know that? You had no right! You saw how cut up I was about her leaving and you still took away the one thing that would have given me peace!"

I look him up and down, wondering how he could possibly be my brother when I don't even recognize the petty man he's become. Arthur steps between us, holding my gaze.

"Stand down, Sid. We can get the answers we need from Char....he's not worth it."

"You've got that right," I mutter, turning to leave. Wherever the truth lies, I won't be getting it from Tom.

I've barely gone two steps when all hell breaks loose.

"Mom and dad would be ashamed of you!," Tom sneers. "It's time you did your fucking duty--"

I don't remember turning, don't recall anything but the sickly crack of bone on bone, my fist on his face, blood spurting from his nose like an erupting volcano. The force sends him flying onto the ground, cupping his nose in pain as his fingers become slick with his own shame.

"You're crazy!," he yells, sliding back along the floor to get away from me."You almost broke my nose!" 

"Dammit...I don't think I did it right." I flex my fist again, but he holds out a shaky hand to stop me.

I crouch over him then, gripping the scruff of his shirt, relishing the sight of his comeuppance. If I expect to feel bad for punching him, I don't. This was a long time coming, and I absolve myself of any traces of guilt.

"Listen up, _brother_ ," I threaten, tightening my hold. "I am not your keeper. If you touch my shit again, I'll break more than just your nose, understand?" He nods, eyes growing wide with fear. "If you so much as mention my name with Eliza's in the same sentence, so help me God, I will fucking disown you. You will buy me out of this business and we will never speak again, got it?" He nods again, blood oozing pathetically from his wound. "And if you ever dare suggest that haven't paid my dues--," He shrinks into himself at the manic look in my eye. I don't have to finish the sentence for him to know my meaning. "Stay the fuck out of my life, Tom."

I release him without warning, and he falls back onto the floor with a painful thud. 

"Come on, Arthur, let's go. I'm done here."

I don't bother looking back.

* * *

Out in the hall, I breathe out slowly, only now registering the sharp sting in my knuckles. I'm still high off of the adrenaline of that explosive exchange. Holding my hand up, I realize that I'm bleeding, my skin having burst with the force of the blow. 

" _Jesus Christ_ ," I whisper, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"I can't believe you just did that," Arthur says dazedly as we listen to Tom shuffle into the guest bath. "Don’t get me wrong, it was fucking spectacular, but I just can't believe you actually punched him."

"He deserved it."

"Yeah, he really did."

We share a knowing look, unable to help the smiles now plastered across both our faces. I think about everytime I wanted to pummel him as a kid, how every stupid thing he got away with made this unavoidable.

"So...we jetting?," Arthur asks hopefully. "The morning after is always awkward."

"Nah. Get some sleep. We'll leave in a few hours."

He looks surprised, but says nothing before heading back into his room and closing the door firmly behind him. It's now after two, and there's no way I can make the drive back home in this state. The day's events have piled up, suffocating me under their weight, but I'm not running anymore. I'm done with my life being a hit and run.

When I crawl into bed, sleep hits me like like a drug, and for the first time in twelve years, rest comes with zero consequences.

* * *

I'm packed and ready to go early, but take my time getting ready, hoping that my measured movements will provide some much-needed perspective. Charlotte hasn't yet been gone a full day, but it seems like a lifetime since I last saw her. Checking my phone, I think about how easy it would be to just call her. To say I'm sorry, to hear her voice, to find out what she wrote that couldn't be said in words.

Sighing heavily, I push all that from my mind and head downstairs. Tom is nowhere in sight, but Mary greets me with a cup of milky coffee, peering at me over the rim of her cup. 

"Busy night?," she quips knowingly.

I shrug my shoulders. "I guess you could say that. How is he?"

"Wounded." She takes a sip of her tea. "His pride more than anything else. You know how he is."

I nod, reaching out across the counter to take her hand.

"For what it's worth, I wish I could be who he needs me to be. But he can't go around telling me who to love. It's not something I can magic into existence with just anyone."

She looks at me without judgement or malice, and I know she understands.

"I've only ever wanted you to be happy. I hope you know that, Sid. But Tom..."

"You don't need to explain him Mary. I've know him my whole life. I know he's not easy."

Her eyes swim brightly with unshed tears, and I see clearly the burden of loving a man like my brother. A man who's goodness is often lost in translation, amidst misguided hopes and dreams that will never never come to be.

"Hey Sid, you ready?," Arthur sticks his head in through the front door. "Auntie Val wants to see you before we go."

My head whips round to look at him. "Aunt Val is here? How'd I miss that?"

I give Mary a quick hug, before grabbing my bag and rushing out.

I haven't seen my mom's sister in ages. She's the head nurse in the ICU, and probably half the reason I'm still alive. Almost as soon as I step outside, she circles me in a warm hug, leaning back to examine my face, tousle my hair, her eyes crinkling with joy.

I hug her back, choked up with emotion. She looks exactly the way I always imagined mom would at this age, and it hurts.

"Hey kiddo," she says, "I couldn't let you go without saying goodbye."

"I should have made an effort to come see you..."

"Hey, you have nothing to be sorry for. I'm proud of you for coming to the memorial. I know how hard it must have been."  
I swallow the lump in my throat, nodding as she continues. 

"I met your girlfriend yesterday, by the way. She's a gem!"

"Charlotte?" I smile brightly before remembering that I'm on uncertain terms with her. "How'd you know she's my girlfriend?"

"Well it certainly wasn't me you were peeking at from the bushes, I'll tell you that!" She throws her head back, laughing. "Now, call me crazy, but I can't shake the feeling that I've met her before...I just can't place where."

My heart stills at my aunt's words.

"Are you sure?," I breathe, frowning.

"Fairly certain. She has a face you don't easily forget." _Ain't that the truth_.

"Aunt Val, Charlotte was in an accident a few months ago. She suffers from retrograde amnesia...anything you remember about her, anything at all, would be helpful."

My voice is quietly urgent. Normally I wouldn't divulge this information, but no matter where I stand with Char, I'm committed to helping her piece herself back together. My aunt's eyes grow wide with understanding. As a nurse, I'm guessing she's had experience with this sort of situation. 

"I'll keep her in my thoughts, and let you know if figure it out, ok?"

I scoop her into my arms, hugging her tight. Her embrace feels like home, like everything I never knew I was missing about my mom.

"I gotta go," I say a bit guiltily, glancing at my watch. "I've got a class to prep for this evening..."

She smiles, leaning in to kiss my cheek."You were always too smart for your own good. Don't be a stranger, ok?"

"Not a chance," I reply honestly. 

Moments later, Arthur and I hit the road. I'd avoided coming back home for so long that I'd forgotten all the reasons I stayed away in the first place. Unexpectedly, coming back reminded me of all the good things I chose to miss out on. I had nieces and nephews, a family I loved (most of the time), and a million good memories mixed in with the bad. I didn't quite know what to make of it all as yet.

We drive mostly in silence, both of us knee deep in our own thoughts. As the minutes tick by, I can sense Arthur dying with need to say something important. 

"Out with it, Arthur. You look like you're about to burst."

"Thank God!," he says exasperatedly. "Sid, please tell me you'll speak you Charlotte when we get back. You haven't mentioned her once since last night... "

I can feel his expectant gaze on me, but I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, saying nothing. I wish it was that easy, but no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to exorcise the bitter taste of what feels like her betrayal.


	32. JAMES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some huge revelations....

(JAMES)

We ride quietly for a few minutes, Char gazing in the direction of the clifftops. The sharp fall of the cliffs towards the cobalt sea brings an acute dread in my gut. We've been here before, years ago, the four of us. Char’s mom was enamored with the place. 

“James, can we stop here?” Char’s voice thrusts me back from my daydreaming. “I want to sit by the beach. The color of the water is so soothing, don’t you think?”

There are still suppressed tears in her eyes. She's obviously shaken. She also looks conflicted, lost, even remorseful, I think. 

After we find a place to park, we meander down a path clearly created by other onlookers. This slice of beach is not yet touched by human activity. The wilderness envelops you with its powerful arms as soon as you descend. Char takes her flats off and sits on the sand, just above the sea line, where her feet are gently caressed by the waves. 

“He was hurting, you know. And… I left him. I didn’t even have the guts to say goodbye.” She seems to be talking to me, but I have no idea what has happened, and I'm afraid to ask. “I wrote him a letter… Don't you find that sometimes it's just better to write your thoughts, especially the important ones?”

Her deep brown eyes are hopeful, as she looks at me. So, I know that I need to give her my full support. 

“You were always so good with words, Char. Writing was your escape. So, yeah, when it comes to you, a letter would convey your purest and most articulate thoughts.”

She smiles gently at me, her eyes glimmering with tears. 

“Oh, James, you have no idea how I've missed being in the company of someone who  _ knows me _ .” She lets the little traitors sprint freely down her face, and I'm relieved that my answer didn't disappoint her. 

She peers into the horizon thoughtfully. I know that look - the way she presses her lips and tenses her jaw - her eyes focusing intensely on a point in the distance, while a very deliberate thought forms in her mind. So, I wait for it. 

“Why do I always run away, James? What am I afraid of?” The blunt frankness in her voice terrifies me. She went straight to the source of all her heartache. I attempt to measure my words because it's too soon to open old wounds. 

“Wow, Char, that's such a heavy question.” I observe her closely. For us to regain our mutual trust, I must strive to be as transparent with her as I can. “You're afraid to lose those you love…guarding your heart. I think that's why, when someone gets close to you, you run away.”

“Is that why no one came to look for me at the hospital after my accident?” I can feel the hurt in her voice, and it feels like a dagger is slowly cutting through my heart. “I didn’t… I don’t have any friends? Don’t we have any family?”

I feel lost in her maze of voids and wide blank spaces. I don’t know if she remembers anything, and I don’t know where to begin. 

“Our dad lives in Spain.” I feel like this is a relatively safe place to start recounting her life. Her eyes widen in surprise.

“So, this is where the money comes from. I receive a deposit every month… But why does he send me money?”

“You don’t remember anything?” I am just so struck by that. Even after speaking with Dr. Fuchs; even after reading about her condition; it's hard to process the fact that she's blocked all of the past painful memories. I'm sure they must be tucked away somewhere, waiting to resurface.

“I have these dreams, James.” I nod in understanding. “So, you  _ know _ about them then?”

“You used to have them before too. You woke up at five every morning.”

She seems to be in a haze, as she retells her fragmented memories, mixed with dreams of us as children running at the beach, her crying, me protecting her, dad screaming…

“Char, these are all memories of precise moments in our life. It sounds like you've recalled some of the more painful ones. We had happy days too. We really did.” It sounds like I'm trying to convince myself. 

“Was dad violent with us?  _ All  _ of us?” There is a specific string in her voice, a tonality, that reveals her fear. So, once again, I consider my choice of words carefully. I don’t want to distress her.

“When I was a kid, he used to have these outbursts. I would hide under my bed.” I take a moment to clear the tickle in my throat. Then my mom left us one day, and never came back.”

Char looks at me, dumbfounded. I imagine it would be difficult for her to remember my life before her, if she hardly remembers her own. So, I ignore the wetness on my cheeks. I gulp down my grief and continue.

“A couple of years later, my dad met your mom. He was spellbound by her. As an artist, she was fascinating to him. Her art was mesmerizing, as if touched by a mythical creature. As a little boy, I actually believed she was a mermaid.” There is a childish chuckle in my voice. “I used to hide my face in her hair when dad was getting loud. She always smelled like violets on a sunny day. She had a magical hold over him and was the only one capable of domesticating his demons. Just a glance from her and he would succumb to her powers.” I stop and look at Char. In this moment, under the sandstone tones of an approaching sunset, she looks exactly like her mom. 

“So, you're my half brother?” She hesitates. Her voice - a bare whistle - overpowered by the loud roar of the waves. 

“Yes. You were born exactly nine months after they met. Dad fell in love with you the second you took your first breath out of the womb. I'd never seen him that happy. Your birth brought out the best in him. He used to play soft lullabies for you on the guitar.” I surrender to those memories of happy times for a moment. Char is searching my face, moving a little closer. “Eventually, his old tendencies resurfaced. I wasn't as afraid of him then. I think with the years, I grew stronger and he became weaker. So, I became your shield… of sorts.”

“From the little I remember, I did gather that much. You were always the one consoling me and protecting me in my dreams.” She sounds grateful and relieved. “I must have been a burden.”

“No,Char! You were never a burden.” I hug her eagerly then, as if trying to protect her from a storm. “You're freezing! We need to get going.”

She nods distractedly. Back in the car, I blast the heat for a few minutes. When she seems to be warm enough, I put the car in gear, ready to drive off. 

“James, wait.” She places her hand on my arm urgently. “I should go back to him.”

“Go back to whom, Char?”

“Sidney. I need to make sure he received my letter.” There is such determination in her voice, I barely recognize her.

“Is Sidney someone you.. love… Char?” I struggle with the thought momentarily. But then, it's conceivable, in fact, it's very probable that, free of the burden of her past, Charlotte could have finally allowed someone in. She smiles lovingly and I know right there and then that she has found someone who deserves her. “Let’s hurry back then.”

* * *

I want to give her privacy, even though I'm dying to meet her mysterious boyfriend. I stall, not knowing wwhat's best. She throws me a murderous look.

“What are you waiting for? An invitation?” Well, that cleared things up for me. She wants me to go with her. I release a deep exhale. 

She rings the doorbell. It takes a few minutes for someone to finally answer it. A tall, thin, jumpy man, with sandy hair and dancing eyes opens the door. 

“Oh, Charlotte! I thought you left…” He says with a note of annoyance in his voice. He doesn't offer for us to come in, which I find odd and incredibly rude. It's quite chilly outside, the breeze puncturing the skin.

“I, erm…is Sidney here?” Char seems uncomfortable by this man’s presence. Her body tenses up, a small repetitive tap of her foot on the ground. She does that when she is anxious. 

“He called it a night. He was exhausted… as you might imagine. It was a challenging day for  _ all _ of us.” The accusatory tone in his voice makes my blood boil. Who the hell does he think he is, speaking like this to my sister! I feel an urge to punch him, and it takes severe control on my part not to do so. 

“Of course, I understand… Tom, I left a note for Sidney in the guest room. Could you please make sure he receives it safely?” She is practically imploring. “Even tonight, perhaps… if he' s not yet asleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure! I'll take care of it, don’t you worry, my dear! Good night now!” He closes the door too quickly, as if trying to get rid of the evidence of a most heinous crime. I don’t trust a word of what he said. He seemed too shifty and rushed.

“Who was that?” I whisper.

“That was Tom, Sidney’s brother.”

“I don’t like him.”

“James! You barely met him for two minutes…”

“Still…something's off with that one.”

We're silent for the remainder of the trip to Char’s apartment. She checks her phone every few minutes, expecting some news from Sidney, I suspect. She grows restless by the hour, and I feel for her.

“Char, maybe it's true that he really did call it a night. I'm sure Tom didn't have a chance to give him your letter… yet.” I venture an explanation. “You did say that they're going through some difficult times…”

“You're a good listener, James. I hope you're right.” She observes quietly. 

When we finally arrive, I'm pleasantly surprised by the neighborhood. It is much more lively than the previous place Char picked. I love that it has character and a dynamic vibe.

“You have a favorite place to eat around here?” I hope she goes out with her friends. She used to keep to herself. She was very much an introvert. We used to go out together with some of my friends, but she never made lasting connections. One of my buds was madly in love with her, but she gave never gave him a chance. He tried to win her over for years. 

“I don’t have a favorite place…I am not out and about much.” She looks down shyly. 

“Don’t worry. We’ll remedy that, just not tonight.”

“James, you want to see my apartment? I'm really proud of how it turned out.”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d allow me to crash on your couch …or your floor. I'm a wreck after all that driving.” I'm absolutely exhausted from this day. I feel my eyes closing as soon as I park the car.

“Sure. I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow.”

“You cook? Since when??” I must have my mouth brushing the floor because Char starts laughing out loud. I had forgotten that laugh. An uninhibited, honest, free of worry laugh. I used to hear it a lot when we were kids, especially when she was with her mom. There is a tinkle about it that is contagious. 

“I learned a thing of two from Arthur?”

“Who is Arthur?”

“He' s Sidney’s  _ nice _ brother.” We both explode in laughter. 

“I love him already!” I am genuinely happy that she managed to find a group of people who supported her in this. I owe all of them a huge thanks. And, I intend to let them know just how appreciative I am. 

I love everything about Char’s place. She truly made an effort to make it hers. You can sense her presence here. I am so proud of her for that. The old apartment was completely devoid of her touch. Other than the picture from Lloret de Mar, there was nothing to suggest she'd lived there. 

“I see that Lloret de Mar has a prominent spot in this apartment too…” I let my eyes explore the aqua blue waters of the Mediterranean. “We have some unforgettable memories there. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”

“Is that where dad lives?”

“Most likely, even though he doesn't actually stay in one place, ever. But, that's where our home is.”

“ _Home_?” She seems taken aback by my comment. 

“Well, we lived in Spain for a couple of years. You were little then. Your mom was on what she referred to as a “creative sabbatical.” I'm surprised she hasn't asked about her mom yet. I dread the questions, but I know that this must be constantly on her mind. I wonder why she's avoiding it…


	33. ARTHUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur vs. The Apocalypse. This is the Arthur we all need. But also, a side to him we never think about... 
> 
> Happy reading! Hope you love it!

(ARTHUR)

"Honey I'm fabulous. Which is the same thing as being awesome with sprinkles and glitter, splashed with I don't care what you think."

The day we got back, Sidney claimed he was "busy". No time for moping or self-pity, as it were. Bags were prompty dropped at the door as he made a mad dash for the stack of textbooks piled high on his bedroom desk, kicking the door shut behind him. A couple hours later, he tumbled out, mumbling something about having a lecture and not to wait up for him.

_As if._

The following day, he was largely unresponsive. Much like the day before, he didn't mention Charlotte once, instead choosing to spend long stretches of time lying stock still on his bed, staring blankly at his computer screen, or incessantly checking his phone for a message that would never come. I wasn't oblivious to his acute need to be alone, to think, or emotionally process his stupidity, but patience is not my strong suit. I had to bite my tongue to keep from giving him verbal whiplash. It was even harder to refrain from smacking some sense into him.

On the third day, he went full caveman, emerging from his hovel only when hunger and other basic urges made it absolutely necessary. His white undershirt sported a number of questionable stains, and I cursed him for looking so fucking perfect as his facial hair entered that weird stage between stubble and beard.

He began taking sugar in his coffee, a flimsy guard against the bitterness of his life. Charlotte was the unnamed elephant in the room, and everytime I so much as opened my mouth, he grimaced. I noted the way his eyes glazed over me whenever our paths crossed, how he kept his replies to my (very reasonable) questions to a bare minimum.

_"Have you spoken to Charlotte yet? Grunt._

_"Are you going to speak to Charlotte?" Scratches neck._

_"Are you even alive?"_ _Flips me the bird. Walks away._

By the fifth day of this strange apocalypse, I was armed and ready to breach the revolt with a well laid out counterattack. Ok, maybe it wasn't the most meticulous plan, but I was at least prepared to shock him back to life. This thing where he was attempting to revert to his sad life before _she-who-must-not-be-named_ came into it really wasn't working for me. Or him, for that matter.

Since he had both office hours and class later that day, I knew his first order of business after waking would be to hop in the shower. When I heard the sharp patter of water on tile, I flicked on the coffee maker and sank into a chair with the morning paper. For the record, I think people are losing something invaluable with the shift to online news outlets... nothing beats that newsy smell, or the ability to hide the most devious expressions behind a wall of print.

As expected, the shower turns off far sooner than it usually does, and a few minutes later Sidney emerges from his room cursing like a drunk pirate. I peek at him over the top of the paper, struggling to keep my laughter tucked safely inside. His hair is sopping wet, trailing water down his neck and onto his gray t-shirt. But the funniest part of this hilarious spectacle is that he keeps sniffing at himself.

"Stupid body wash...," he mumbles angrily. "Stupid dumb shampoo.." 

"Excuse me, did you say something?" I smirk wickedly in my little hideout, taking extreme pleasure in how this is playing out so far.

"No...," he grumbles before changing his tune. "Actually, yes. I took a shower and I still stink of my own sweat--"

"Bummer. I didn't wanna say anything, but your personal hygiene has been lacking since, well... you know."

He pauses for a beat too long, and before I know it, the newspaper is whipped violently from my guilty fingers, falling into a hopeless mess on the floor. Sidney grips the table on either side of me, leaning down to meet my eyes.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about why the soap and shampoo bottles are glued shut, would you?"

I shoot him an incredulous look. "Are they?"

"You know they are," he growls.

"Get over yourself Sidney. I have better things to do with my time." 

Of course, I actually don't. I took great satisfaction crazy gluing his stuff shut when he was grabbing us takeout last night, but in my defense, drastic action needed to be taken. 

"One of these days, Arthur, I'm going to stuff your head down the toilet for being such a pain in the ass!"

"You're welcome to try," I say dryly.

He sighs in frustration, and when he turns back to the kitchen I laugh soundlessly, shaking with the effort of remaining silent in my brother's time of great distress.

He bangs open cupboards and drawers, haphazardly looking for the coffee cup and spoon I've already left waiting on the counter.

"Thank God there's coffee. Wait--," he examines the coffee pot, "this _is_ coffee, right?"

"Does it look like coffee and smell like coffee?"

He swirls the pot, sniffing the contents doubtfully. "Well, yes. But I don't trust you."

"Sid, it's coffee. I'm not sadistic enough to mess with your coffee."

 _Only devious enough to mess with the details_. I watch as he pours himself a steaming cup, heaping a healthy spoonful of sugar into the mix. Leaning back onto the counter, he exhales deeply, closing his eyes a little before taking his first sip.

First, his brows furrow together in confusion. Then he sputters and coughs, wheezing briny liquid out of his nose, pounding his chest as he gags into the sink. His desperate fingers can't find the tap lever fast enough, but when they do he lets the cold water pour into his mouth, spitting and rinsing too many times to count. 

"WHAT THE FUCK ARTHUR?," he roars. "Why?Why would you put salt in the sugar bowl?"

I shrug nonchalantly. "I guess I was salty about something."

"Oh please, this isn't about Charlotte again, is it?" He dumps the sad remains of his ruined coffee down the drain. The cup lands in the sink with a steely thud that makes me wince. "Because the last time I checked, I'm the one in a relationship with her!"

"Yeah, and _I'm_ the one who has to watch you both make every single fucking mistake in the book! You love this girl, right?" He blinks rapidly, nodding. "Because it shouldn't take you five days to reach out to her! Hell, it shouldn't even take you five seconds! You should have called her right after you punched Tom's stupid face! Don't you want to know what she wrote?"

I push back from the chair, bending to retrieve the discarded newspaper. When I'm upright again, Sid's face is masked with an inscrutable expression.

"It's complicated, ok?"

"Please, explain what is so damn complicated about saying, _'Hey Char, my dumbass other brother burned your letter before I could read it. Let's talk'."_ I briefly reconsider my approach when I see hurt flicker through Sidney’s eyes, but ultimately decide that he needs some tough love. "I know you're hurt. I know that you're struggling with what went down, but so is she. Love is complicated, Sid. You've both made mistakes, but they're...fixable."

His lips twitch as he closes eyes at my words, leaning forward to brace his arms on the kitchen island.

"Arthur, it goes both ways. Do you know how hard it is to keep from running downstairs every second to work this out? I miss her so bad. So, so bad..."

He rubs his chest before continuing, likely unaware of how shattered he looks standing there with fresh coffee stains on his shirt and water dripping from his still wet hair.

"She ran from from _us_ when shit hit the roof, and didn’t even have the guts to give me a head's up! She made me feel...insignificant. I mean, how hard would it have been to text me that she'd left a note? Or send me an email instead? She left everything up to chance, and that makes me feel like she didn't care enough for me to actually find her message!"

"She was hurt and upset! We all do crazy stupid things when we're pissed off. You of all people should know that!"

Though I'm sticking up for Charlotte, I'm beginning to see how, from my brother's perspective, the letter is a poor compensation for her leaving. All of their missteps have come to a breaking point for which there's no easy fix.

"Arthur." Sid's voice is quietly contemplative. "Why does this matter so much to you, anyway?"

His question throws me off guard, and I shift uncomfortably to ward off the unwelcome sensation. It hits a nerve somewhere deep between my heart and soul, one that I'm usually adept at deflecting with humour.

"Arthur, you ok?," asks Sid with concern.

"I was fourteen when mom and dad died, Sid. _Fucking fourteen._ " I clench my fists, searching for the courage to say this right. "You have no clue how many nights I snuck out of the house and took the bus to the hospital just to make sure you were still alive, because I couldn't lose you too."

When I sneak a look at him, he's chalk white, suspended in the honesty of my confession. "You survived, but only part of you came home, and for the next twelve years I watched you become a shadow of who you once were, running from your past, from every single chance at happiness. But when Charlotte happened, it's like you fell back into yourself. You're better with her...," I pause, gathering my thoughts, unable to meet his gaze again. "So yeah, it matters," I finish quietly, " It matters because you deserve to be happy. Not everyone gets a chance at a love like this, bro, and you're wasting it."

By this time, I'm breathing hard, having met my daily quota of honesty. I feel exposed, and suddenly vulnerable. Sidney does nothing, except stare blankly at me for a moment before turning to rinse out his coffee cup, refilling it with urgency.

"Jesus, Arthur," he says hoarsely. "I'm so sorry. I've been such a shitty brother..."

"While I'm not opposed to you feeling that way, I didn't say that stuff to make you feel bad. Charlotte needs you to be your best self because she's having a tough time, too. Doesn't matter who did what, just promise me you'll try harder?"

He nods wordlessly, which I find highly infuriating because I don't know if he'll make an effort with her today, or something stupid like next year when it'll be too late. (Probably because, by that time I'll have killed him and made it look like an accident.)

When the space between us fills up with awkward silence, I realize that he's done talking. But it's when he squeezes a copious amount of honey into his black coffee that I decide to jet. He looks at me strangely as I quickly grab my things and make a dash for the door, no doubt thinking that our conversation got the better of me.

It might be cruel to let him believe that I'm soft, but the truth is, I replaced the honey with molasses and I really don't want to be around for his reaction.

* * *

I spend several hours having coffee and bemoaning my life to Georgiana, during which I receive multiple strongly worded text messages from Sidney deploring my glaring lack of human decency. 

_(I f*cking hate you/ What kind of evil mastermind pulls this shit?/ I can't get the taste of tar out of my mouth...)_

Blah, blah, blah. I roll my eyes and stick my phone back into my pocket as I head back into the building, knowing that I'm safe for the time being with Sidney at school. But instead of going up to our apartment, I make a spur of the moment decision to go straight to the root of the problem since I have zero faith in Sidney’s ability to make this right.

Walking up the stairs was a mistake, and by the time I make it to Charlotte's door, I'm winded and sweating and gasping for air. When I can breathe again, I knock on the door a few times, not even remotely prepared for the perfect male specimen who answers it.

"Umm...hi?," he says questioningly, "Can I help you with something?"

I'm totally aware that I'm staring, but I can't help it. The man is flawless, with wavy side swept blonde hair and dimples to boot. I clear my throat loudly. 

"Oh, yes, hey, hi ummm, you're wow, very... monolithic, aren't you?" I push past him into the small entryway. "Charlotte, why didn't you tell me that your brother is a God?"

I hear her laughter before I see her. She comes into sight adjusting her earring, looking altogether too overdressed for class. She smiles brightly, giving me a tight squeeze that makes me realize how much I've missed her.

"Arthur Parker!" She laughs lightly, "Don't tell me you have a crush on my brother?! To be fair, I didn't remember what he looked like until a few days ago."

"Oh please...you know I have a crush on anyone who has the audacity to look better than me. Nothing personal." I glance at James, extending my hand. "Arthur. Nice to finally meet you."

He grips my hand in a firm handshake, eyes glassy with warm regard. His smile is high wattage, so intense it's blinding. _Jeez, where are my shades when I need them?_

"I've heard a lot about you from Char...," he offers. "All good things, don't worry!"

"Well, that's a relief! I don't think I could stand being hated by another person right now!"

"Strangely, I completely understand that." He shrugs, glancing nervously at Charlotte. "Anyway, I'll let you two catch up. I need to finish getting ready."

Once he's out of earshot, Char gives me another tight hug. I look at her closely, taking in the bluish smudges beneath her eyes than not even makeup can erase. I'm sure she hasn't been sleeping well either.

"James is taking me to MoVida for dinner," she explains guiltily, "and then I thought I'd take him to Rumours for drinks after. He wants me to meet some of his friends..."

"Char, you don't need my approval. I'm glad you've found your brother. For what it's worth, Sidney is too."

When her eyes meet mine, she looks ready to cry. "How is he?," she asks anxiously. "I left him a letter. Did he get it? Is that why--"

She stops abruptly, swiping at her face. I want to scoop her into my arms and tell her that everything will be ok, but I'd be lying to both of us if I did that.

"He misses you Charlotte," I say softly. "He misses you a lot..."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah, he does. But as to the rest, it's not my story to tell." I grip her shoulder gently, searching her eyes. "I just came here to say that you're both being stupid and you need to talk before this gets worse."

She runs her tongue over her teeth, staring hazily at nothing in particular. "It's his move, Arthur. If he read the letter, he knows that."

Between the two of them, I don't know who makes my head ache more. They're both too stubborn for their own good.

"Char, just think about how hurt he is that you left without saying goodbye. Think about how many things could have gone wrong between you leaving that letter and him finding it."

Her eyes grow wide with doubt, as if suddenly realizing the loopholes in her plan. I can tell she wants to ask a million questions, maybe even launch a protest, but I cut her off by leaning down to peck her cheek.

"Listen, I gotta go. Just call him or something, ok?"

She doesn't respond as I slip through the door, making a slow escape upstairs. This morning, I believed that if I could just talk to them, get them to see how ridiculous they were acting, that they'd see sense. Now, I'm not so sure.

Once in my room, I lay quietly on my bed in a feeble attempt to quell my riotous thoughts. Eventually, I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Esther.

_Char will be at Rumours tonight. You need to persuade Sid to go for an after-class drink or else these two fools will never speak. I owe you one if you can make it happen!_

When I'm done, I toss my phone and close my eyes to ward off my own self-doubt and other monsters. I might be a lot of things, but I'm not a quitter.


	34. CHARLOTTE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will they finally talk? Will Arthur's plan would for these two stubborn lovers?
> 
> Only time (and some strong words) will tell...

CHARLOTTE

As Arthur slips out the door, leaving unspoken words to hover in the air, I crash on the couch, waiting for James. It’s been a long day already. Last night, I didn't sleep at all. I kept staring at my phone, waiting for Sidney to acknowledge my letter, until I dozed off in the early hours of the morning. I'm pretty sure my hand was still glued to the phone screen when my tired eyelids finally gave up. 

I think I did the right thing giving Sidney space, but who knows… I left him a very hopeful letter, I thought. I made James drive me back to Sanditon House, where I was turned away at the door by Tom. I'm not sure what to think anymore, but it feels like all the Parkers see me as a nuisance, except Arthur, of course.

I understand why Arthur didn't say much of anything just now it's s not his story to tell), but the least he could have done is tell me if Sid got my letter. I scoff in frustration, throwing my phone in my purse. I know that Sid is hurting. I really do. But I am hurting too…

* * *

THAT MORNING, AROUND 5 AM

_The girl is curled up in bed, clasping onto a picture, crumbling it with her trembling fingers. Silent tears stream down her cheeks. A male figure sits beside her. He seems tense, emotional and deeply hurt._

_“She left, Charlotte, ok! She left you, and me, and James.”_

_“I don’t believe you, dad.” She repeats in a perpetual loop, like an old gramophone needle got stuck on a crevasse in the record. “She would never leave us.”_

_“Well, you better believe it!” He storms out of the room fuming._

_“No, no, no, no,_ no, no…

“Char, wake up! Char!” James is desperately shaking my shoulders. “It’s just a dream.”

He holds me for a long while, caressing my hair, brushing my tears away. Now I know what happened. She left, and my dad became even more violent. She was our shield, but she left us. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” James finally breaks the silence.

“Not really…” I feel the need to process this one on my own. I know that I will have questions for him about mom soon. I'm just not ready yet.

* * *

I'm starting to doubt Sid’s feelings. He's been self-absorbed in his pain, pushing me away at every step. My trip to Sanditon came with an unexpectedly quick transition from girlfriend to friend, and then to nobody. Perhaps Tom’s pernicious influence and constant nagging about Eliza has broken the thin thread that united us. I guess my letter gave him an out. I promised to wait for him to find me “when and _if_ ” he is ready. I assumed it would only be a matter of time, but after days of silence, my optimism is fading away.

James stands at the threshold of my bedroom, observing me closely. He is wearing dark blue jeans and a tight green shirt. His curls are still wet from the shower, dripping water all over my hardwood floor. He does look like a model, straight out of a fashion magazine. I can see why Arthur lost his marbles when he met him. 

“Char, we don’t have to go, you know.” I have been moody with him all day. He doesn’t deserve that.

“No, James, I need a bit of a distraction. Plus, you've been talking about Rachel non stop, so, I know you want to see her.” His dimples deepen and his face lights up. He is already half in love with that girl. He sits next to me, placing his hand on my knee, patting it, as if to give me encouragement.

“Look, I can see Rachel whenever. MoVida is not going to run away. What do you want to do?” 

I considered going to class tonight. I must have played about a hundred scenarios in my head. However, the awkwardness of a public encounter where Eliza may be present, overpowered all other emotions in every single one of those scenarios. So, I decided against it. 

“James, we're going!” I shove my gloominess to the side, knowing that it will be my loyal companion later tonight.

* * *

The ride to MoVida is long, muggy stillness embracing me, until I speak up, too tired of keeping it all inside.

“I don’t get it, James!” My voice carries every ounce of exasperation. “Arthur told me to call Sid. Why should I call? If he read my letter, he knows I'm giving him space.” I felt so certain of our connection that I gave him room to explore all the facets of pain, anger and uncertainty within his heart before he is ready to allow me in. “Everything that happened since I set foot in that blasted house, perched on a cliff, proved to me that he wasn't ready for us.”

“How about you, Char? Were you ready?” He looks at the road ahead, his question hanging in the air.

“You must think I was not ready for this… under the circumstances of my accident” 

“No. That's not what I meant. It’s not necessarily about your amnesia, your nightmares, or even the scaring experiences of your past.” He shrugs his shoulders, grasping onto the wheel firmly. “Everything you've told me about your relationship makes it sound like you both jumped into it blindfolded… and that requires a lot of trust.”

“And trust comes with time…” I complete his thought, my voice hushed. 

He parks the car in front of MoVida. This is the place of heartache and hope for us. We said our goodbye here, prior to my accident. I do remember the dream of that rainy night, me speeding away, tears in my eyes, James’ figure in the rearview mirror. Am I ready to face that night again, knowing that I might lose him again? Not today. Not right now. Having him back in my life has been such a blessing. 

“Let’s get some comfort food, Char. How about that?”

The hostess smiles at us as soon as we come through the revolving doors. 

“It’s so good to have you two back! We've reserved your favorite table. Rachel is expecting you.”

And, soon enough, her cheerful voice greets us from behind. 

“I see you two found each other!”

“Yes, thanks to you!” James’ answer is full of emotion and gratitude. He does not know that I have devised a mischievous plan to get him alone with Rachel in the nearest future. Since my relationship seems to be growing more sour by the day, I can at least daydream about possibility for a sweet romance for my brother. 

We talked about his love life at length. After I told him everything about Sid and I, it was only fair for him to share. He has not had a serious relationship for a few years now, going out on dates occasionally. His true love was a girl from Cataluna, and he insists he will never forget her. He wrote her songs, letters, even some poems, and wanted to marry her. One day, out of the blue, he received a cold e-mail from her letting him know she was getting married. He never understood what went wrong, other than the obvious obstacle of a long distance relationship. 

I see the way he looks at Rachel. The candor in his dark brown eyes, his dimples digging deep on both sides, a playful tone in his voice. He looks straight into her eyes when she talks, listening with such intensity, you would think she's telling us the most fascinating story, while in reality she's just reading through the specials. 

“So… do you want to try one of the specials or stick with your usual order?” Rachel cannot take her eyes off of him, and I'm enjoying this a little too much. 

“Jamon croquetas, patatas bravas, garden paella and crema catalana for me.” I order in one breath. I'm famished. James starts laughing. 

“I see nothing has changed, Char. Would you like to _share_ or do you intend to eat all this food _by yourself_?” There's a sparkle in his eye, a teasing curve shaping his smile, and those perfect white teeth blinding me. All this charismatic playfulness is directed at Rachel, I'm sure, but I pretend to be oblivious to it.

“Ugh” I let an exaggerated groan. “I guess I _could_ share.” All three of us explode in laughter. 

The food starts coming in, as we talk excitedly about some of the previous times we have been here. Apparently, we both loved to celebrate our birthdays here. 

“Really, every chance we got, we came here, Char.” James is shoving large bites in his mouth. Obviously, he appreciates food as much as I do. “We are addicted to this place because the bouquet of flavors brings back memories of Cataluna.”

“You know, Sid and I were planning to go to Lloret de Mar for a few days during our break.” 

James freezes, the color draining from his face. He puts his fork down slowly, concern and puzzlement in his eyes. 

“What if you bump into _him_? Are you prepared for that?”

Since James told me that my dad lives in Spain, I had not given it a second thought. I can see now that my plans with Sid may have to change. 

“I don’t even know what he looks like…”

“But he will recognize you, Char! Don’t you remember how much you defied him? You ran away from him when you were 18.” 

“So, why was I accepting his money then??” I am so confused. I search James’ face for answers. If I ran away from my father, which I don’t doubt I did, why did I accept his deposits in my bank account every month?

“This is not _his_ money. He is sending you proceeds from your mom’s art work…”

“Wait! _What_?” I'm speechless. James mentioned that my mom was an artist. However, I imagined that art was a hobby of sorts, her way to escape the ugliness of her… our reality. 

“Her work is displayed in some of the most prestigious galleries in the world, Char. She was such a prolific painter too…”

“Hold on a minute! Dad is benefitting from the profits of mom’s work? How dare he!” I'm furious. My father's violent nature sent her away, in hiding, perhaps for the rest of her life. But he has the audacity to have her work displayed, only to be sold to the highest bidder, so that he can live a comfortable life. 

“Char, it’s not like that…”

“Why are you protecting him!” The blood rushes to my cheeks. “After everything he did, don’t you hate him, James?” I glare at him defiantly. 

“I am angry with him, Char, for so many things. But he is _our_ dad…” Utter sadness is covering his face. I managed to ruin our evening. 

We sit in silence for a few minutes, struggling with our emotions, which we now feel are on full display, as the restaurant is bursting at the seems. I lower my voice to ask just one question.

“How is her art displayed?”

“Under a pseudonym. She signed all her work as _Almaviva_.”

I have a plan. I will research all of my mom’s work. Her style will set her apart, and this is how I will find her. 

“We're late, James. Your friends are probably expecting us.”

* * *

 _Rumours_ is packed. It’s too loud for my taste, and, after everything that's happened today, I'm in no mood for entertainment. However, given my little outbursts at James these past few days, I need to pretend, at least for a bit, that I'm excited about meeting his friends _again_. They all know me, of course, but I don’t remember any of them. 

“Char, Ryan came too. I am sorry! I didn’t invite him, but he tagged along after they all had dinner…” James whispers in my ear.

I give him a bewildered look. The fact that he thinks that I have even the slightest idea why Ryan’s presence is something I should find offensive is beyond me. 

“Who’s Ryan?”

“He’s my buddy...he's been madly in love with you for years.”

 _FUCK_. You know those days where everything builds up toward a violent shitstorm? They're just glorious, aren’t they? All the ingredients are present: my sour mood, the deafening silence from Sidney’s phone, the earth-shattering discoveries I've made about my past, and, of course, how could I forget, the puppy-eyed suitor who is standing in front of me.

“Char, how are you?” Ryan’s smooth silky voice makes me gag. I look at James imploringly. He needs to save me. Instead, he walks away with the rest of his buddies, joyfully headed in the direction of the bar. I promise myself to kick him in the groin the first opportunity I get. 

“Do you want something to drink?” Mr. “Smooth Operator” cuts the inches between us with every word, and I find myself crashing into other people, bar stools and other furniture, desperately trying to avoid his closeness. 

“No, thanks! I'm fine.” But really, if I am completely honest with myself right now, I could use a drink. Or two. Perhaps I should dip my head into a barrel, just to drown the sour taste in my mouth. 

Ryan’s incessant blabbing is giving me a headache. The fact that he can't conceal the lust in his eyes makes me want to puke. I excuse myself, jolting in the direction of the lady’s restroom, where I intend to hide for the rest of the night. But just then, I feel the pull. I dart my head in its direction and, sure enough, Sidney Parker is headed for the exit, but not before I catch him looking at me. I stop in my tracks, staring at him with determination. Did he just walk away from me? He's been avoiding me for days now, but I didn't truly think it was intentional. My blood boils to the point of no return. 

This whole day has been preparing me for this moment. I pick up the phone and call him. When it goes straight to voicemail, I don’t hesitate to tell the automatic voice on the other side exactly how I feel.

_Really, Sid, really?! You're going to walk away from me? After the letter that I wrote, where I basically told you that I love you, that I believe in us, that I understand that you might need some space? After I made my brother drive back to Sanditon House just so that I could see you and tell you that I left a letter for you?! After your brother Tom made me stand in the cold outside the door, assuring me most fervently that he would give you my letter! You want to walk away from us?! Well, suit yourself!_

I'm gasping for air. Furious tears are drowning me. I may regret leaving this message later, but, right now, I feel pretty damn good.

  
  



	35. SIDNEY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this one took so long. Turns out it takes much longer to write an argument than actually have one...
> 
> Hope this chapter makes you feel all the feels as you cheer for Sid and Char!

(SIDNEY) 

_"I was born to make mistakes, not to fake perfection. " -Drake_

THAT MORNING...

I dreamed of Charlotte and woke up needing a cold shower.

So I took a cold shower, or at least I took half a second of one, during which I said " _f_ _uck_ " thirty times and wondered how people in books and movies always seemed to do this, no problem, as if they weren't freezing to death under the icy stream. I ducked under the water, trying desperately to avoid touching the cold tile (impossible), and violently cranked on the hot water.

I fully intended to drown my self-pity under the warm, steady spray, letting it wash away the ghost of Charlotte's lips on my body, along with the guilty thrill of doing unspeakable things with her on every possible surface. Yeah, I knew we had problems, and I knew that my stubbornness was half to blame, but I wasn't responsible for the workings of my mind in the dark. 

Bracing my hands on the tiled enclosure, I let the water beat down on my back until my skin felt raw, cursing myself for wanting her insatiably, when I was both hurt and angry at her for not only rejecting my apology, but walking away when I needed her most. That was the thing that killed me, eating away at my heart until I felt that there was nothing left to give, the thing that kept me from pounding on her door at all hours to sort us out. I didn't need her silence. I didn't need space. I needed her to bring down the house with her thunder. I needed her to rage at me, throwing things, spewing filthy words until we both dropped to our knees and came to our senses. I needed to know that she cared enough to stay when every instinct told her to run.

But how could she know that, a tiny voice whispered, when she hardly knows herself? How could she know that when you've both been falling from the start, yet to touch solid ground?

Sighing deeply, I watched my breath fog up the damp air for slow seconds before reaching for the shampoo. Only the cap wouldn't open, no matter how hard I tugged. Thinking nothing of it, I grabbed the body wash, needing to smell like something other than the sad residue of my unfulfilled desires. But the damn thing wouldn't open either. I couldn't even get the top to twist off. A quick tussle with the conditioner revealed the same result, and at that point I gritted my teeth in frustration and tossed the stupid bottle aside. 

A few moments later, fully dressed and half-dry, I stooped to examine the offending bottles. In the bright light, I detected something hardened and clear around the edges of each opening, and no matter which way you twisted them, they only spelled one thing: Arthur Parker.

I stormed into the kitchen, sizzling with only slightly misguided anger. Arthur was, of course, just being himself, and in his own convoluted way I knew he was trying to reboot me to life. But I wasn't a fucking computer, and after a week of aching for Charlotte like she was a missing limb, I really just wanted some relief, and a shower, and maybe for my brother not to be such a pain in the ass.

But then he had the audacity to be excruciatingly transparent about how me loving Charlotte is a necessary thread in the fabric of our lives. Without her, I unravel, taking Arthur and his deep-seated pain with me, sinking hard and fast into the nothingness of the people we were before she made us both whole. 

Watching his face crumple was enough to snap me out of my funk. In that moment, I forgot about the salt in my coffee and the many devious uses of crazy glue, realizing that I couldn't justify hurting the brother who was always in my corner, always fighting for the best parts of me to resurface. 

So, I made a wordless promise to try harder with Charlotte. To somehow push aside my foolish pride and superficial needs to bridge the widening gap that stretched between us. Clearly my current modus operandi was doing more damage than good, and even without Arthur's impassioned spiel, I knew I couldn't avoid Char forever. As Arthur breezed past me out the door, I'd almost made my mind up to run down and have it out with her before I had to leave for class. Even if she screamed at me, or said nothing at all, I'd feel better knowing I tried.

I sipped my coffee thoughtfully, gagging a little as my tongue collided with the bittersweet taste of, what was that? _Licorice? Tar? Arthur's swift demise?_ Because there was no forgiveness for messing with coffee twice in one morning. Charlotte could wait another day or two, I thought spitefully, completely aware that I was punishing myself more than anyone else, but at that point I didn't care.

Before I left the house, I took a nice long shower in Arthur's bathroom. When I was done, I replaced his body wash with corn syrup and his 2 in 1 with molasses, smiling fiendishly the entire time.

Payback's a bitch, and all that.

* * *

THAT NIGHT...

"You gonna eat those?" 

Esther gestured at the basket of extra crispy, extra greasy fries, and I shook my head as my stomach revolted against the prospect of food in the over-loud club.

"Remind me why we're here again?," I groaned wanting nothing more than two Tylenol and the comfort of my own bed. 

"Let's see...," she said, stuffing a fry into her mouth. Holding up a hand, she began counting off fingers. "You've been wallowing for days, you won't take any of Babbers' calls--"

"I'm so damn tired of repeating myself!," I interjected weakly, needing to defend myself. Her eyes flash menacingly in the pulsating light.

"Oh please, spare me. I'll make sure he apologizes for giving a fuck. You've been on edge, spazzing on your poor, defenseless students for no other reason than being alive in the midst of your _mid-love crisis_. I mean, today you made that girl cry because she misquoted some dude!"

"It was Heraclitus, and she was not crying!"

(Ok, she was almost crying, and I did feel bad, and I would have even apologized if she hadn't disappeared during the halfway break.) Not my best teaching moment, if I'm being quite honest. 

"Not the point, Sid! Your mess is spilling into everyone else's life...it's sad to see, but not for the reasons you might think."

She pauses, taking a swig of her beer while I assume she arranges her words into the least offensive configuration.

"It's sad because it's within your power to fix if you just, I dunno, picked up the phone, or here's a novel concept, knocked on her door." She shrugged condescendingly. "But instead you're sitting here with me, listening to sad songs, sipping your whiskey like it doesn't burn on the way down."

 _Well jeez, Esther, tell me how you really feel_. Her words wash over me, leaving an imaginary residue in my mouth that makes it hard to swallow. I look away, avoiding her laser-like gaze, everything about her too bright, too real to handle. Then she nudges my glass with her bottle with a gentleness I didn't believe her capable of.

"Look, I've been talking to Char off and on all week, and I can tell you that she's really...lost and hurt about you just ignoring her letter. She has James, but you're the one she wants, Sid."

"Well, I'm glad that the entire population of planet earth, except for me, got a memo about the letter..."

"You're such a drama queen!," she exclaims, shaking her head.

"Takes one to know one, Queen E."

The laugh that escapes my lips is nothing but an empty sound. No one but Arthur knows that I didn’t get a chance to read the letter. Every single conversation I've had this past week has felt like an assault, a steady slew of _shoulds_ and _why don't yous_ from well meaning people who can't seem to grasp that my feelings are wrapped up in something far more complex than a wayward letter.

I feel Esther's warm hand on mine, tapping it awkwardly like she didn't quite know the protocol when it came to needy friends and rejected lovers. Right now I needed things I couldn't voice. I needed to get out of this club before my head exploded. I needed to figure out a way to ignore the low hum in my veins alerting me to Charlotte's presence when she was nowhere in sight. I needed to stop being a stubborn ass and get my girl back before it was too late. 

"How did it get so bad, Esther? I've been trying to piece it all together for the past week, but none of it fits."

I try to keep my tone light even though I know I'm not fooling her. Charlotte's absence is, ironically, inextricably present in my every breath. I can't escape its all-consuming stillness, and yet, I can't seem to make myself do anything about it. I drop my head into my hands, leaning into them for support.

"The more you try to puzzle it out, the less it'll make sense. We're all fools in love, Sid, " says Esther whimsically, her voice straining over the din. When I look up, I catch her scanning the crowd with interest, the casual action masking some inner turmoil.

"I met Babbers on the tail end of a really bad relationship. You probably didn't know that..." I shake my head silently while she grimaces, quickly erasing the small flicker of pain that dances across her features. "I know you guys joke about how it took me forever to agree to go out with him - and it did - but the truth is that I didn't actually believe that a guy like him could really be into a girl like me. Damaged goods and all..."

She stops for breath, scoffing as she dusts off old memories. "I see a lot of myself in Charlotte. I know what it feels like for every move to feel like just another misstep, to try so fucking hard only for things to end in disaster." She looks right into me, searching my eyes until she finds what she's looking for. "It was easier for her to write her pain than to speak it into existence, when she felt she was losing you in a strange place. Maybe, it was her way of fighting for you."

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. The club suddenly seems too small, the music too loud, the quiet hum in my blood threatening to burst out of me if I don't follow its magnetic pull. I gulp the air around me, feeling it squeeze into my lungs as I call bullshit on my petty disregard for Charlotte's feelings.

"I need to find her. _Now_. Tonight. I need to talk to her--," With trembling fingers, I pull out my phone, but not before tipping back the rest of my drink, pretending it didn't light a fire in my throat. After all, I couldn't give Esther the satisfaction of knowing she was right about everything.

" _Shit_ ," Esther mumbles under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear. "Hellfire and damnation and of all the shitty things, why now?"

"What's wrong?"

"Whatever you do, don't look." Her face pales at the sight of whatever she's gawking at. We're in a club, so the possibilities are endless.

"What do you mean, don't look?," I ask, intrigued. "Everyone knows that saying "don't look" is guaranteed to make someone look.'

"Seriously, Sid, don't look!"

She grabs my hand, white as a sheet, but my head is already swiveling to follow her line of view. At first, I see nothing. No orgy on the dancefloor, or tabletop twerking or even a bar fight. But then my eyes land on something a thousand times worse than all those things combined.

Charlotte, _my Charlotte_ , cozying up to some ridiculously handsome douchebag who's currently looking at her with " _I wanna fuck you eyes_." The phone slips from my fingers, landing on the table top with a clatter that makes Esther jump. I can't take my eyes off them, off Charlotte's smiling profile, the way she leans into him, just a little, to hear what he's saying. Vaguely, I wonder where I fit into this equation, if a week of silence was all it took to make her think that I could ever be done with her. Everything fades but the sight of her with someone who's not me, but instead of feeling angry, I feel utterly defeated at the consequences of my own actions. 

When I can't watch anymore, when the sight of her with some nameless guy has filled me to the brim with all of its ugly, I rise to leave, ignoring the clatter of my chair as it tips over.

"Don't follow me," I growl at Esther, glancing only briefly at her as I go.

* * *

I let myself into the back alleyway, breathing deep as the crisp night air hits my face. I'm appalled at how even the solid brick facade seems to be thumping along with the beat within its walls, as if alive. Sliding down to the ground I circle my knees with tired arms and hang my head, faintly registering the persistent buzz of my phone.

For the record, I'm not running. I just need a minute away from my life blowing up in my face. A few minutes later, when I've regained some measure of control, I check my phone. My heart recklessly somersaults when I see a missed call and a voicemail from Charlotte, judging from the time stamp, left sometime between my exit and now.

I don't bother calling back. If she's inside the club, she won't hear it anyway. Instead, I dial into my voicemail, almost weeping at the sound of her (albeit angry) voice after what feels like an eternity. The first two times, I hear her words without actually absorbing them, but the third time, I hear an _I love you,_ mixed in with the foolish notion that I'm somehow giving up on us, when that's the furthest thing from the truth.

I laugh, thinking that if she's angry there's still hope for us to work past this. Feeling more alive than I have in days, I rush back into the club only to collide with Charlotte on her way out, everywhere we touch electric with rage and suppressed desire.

" _How dare you walk out on me_!," she seethes, pushing hard on my chest.

"Me?," I ask incredulously, stepping toward her. "I'd never walk out on you, Charlotte. You should know that by now. But excuse me for needing a breath of air after watching you flirt with _Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome_ as if I don't exist."

Her brows furrow into an inscrutable expression. 

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Back in the club. Who was he?" _Tell me, so I can punch his perfect teeth out_.

"Who, Ryan? Oh my God, Sidney, he's one of my brother's friends, that's all!"

I back her into the wall, my fingers ghosting her slim hips, pressing them into mine. I brush my lips along her jawline, across her mouth, pulling away when she whimpers, wanting more. 

"Tell me, do you want Ryan like you want me? Is that how this works?"

I know I'm being cruel, but there's no way to curb the rage and hurt that unleashes itself from where I've been holding it deep inside. Charlotte glares up at me defiantly, her reply lost in the arrival of a stranger.

"Char, are you ok?" He grips her shoulders, appearing to examine her for physical manifestations of internal heartache.

"I'm fine James. Really-- I'm good. I just needed to speak with Sidney, that's all." 

Her gaze slides nervously to rest on me, and his follows suit. I'm guessing this must be her brother. We size each other up in the back alley of a cheap nightclub, making mental notes and storing them away for future use. He's tall, with an athletic build, and the type of face that's designed to make women swoon. Him and Char look nothing alike, and I hazard a guess that they must each resemble the parent they don't share.

Without uttering a word to me, he turns his attention back to his sister, and I grudgingly admire that he seems to put her first.

"We should go. Do you want to go? You don't have to deal with this, or him, right now."

"You go on ahead," she insists, "I-- we... there are some things we need to work out. I'm safe with him, I promise."

God, but her words make my chest ache. Pivoting swiftly, James turns to me.

"I'm not impressed with you right now," he growls. "In fact, I'm only putting up with you because Char seems to like you. But if you hurt her, I will break your knees. Got it, Parker?"

His eyes narrow, lining his face with a harshness that was absent only a moment before. While being threatened by someone this pretty is a bit laughable, I figure it's probably best not to poke the beast. 

"Yeah, got it."

He nods curtly and stalks back into the club, telling Charlotte to call him if necessary. Moments pass with neither one of us saying a word, except to fill up the void with the heavy silence of our hot breaths. Charlotte licks her lips, biting on them slightly before speaking.

"Why didn't you say anything after you read my letter? I've been waiting..."

"Why didn't you tell me you'd left a letter in the first place, Charlotte?"

My words sound like an accusation, and maybe they are, but seeing her vulnerable in the soft shadows of a back-lit alley weakens my thin resolve.

"I came back, Sidney." She looks up at me hesitantly. "I felt broken up about leaving you like I did, so I came back that night with James. Tom insisted that you'd gone to sleep. He wouldn't even let us in the house, so I told him where I'd left the note and he promised to tell you about it."

"Motherfucker," I groan, resting my forehead against the cool bricks as the strange events of that night fall into place. I think I might actually kill Tom the next time I see him. "I didn't read your letter."

"What? I don't understand. Why wouldn't you read it? Do I matter that little to you?"

"Dammit, Char I didn’t get a chance to even find it! Arthur-- found Tom burning it. All we found were ashes."

She pales then, her mouth gaping open. "Why would he do that?"

"I’ve been asking myself the same question for days. It didn't make sense until now. Actually, it still doesn't add up." I pound the wall lightly with my fist before turning toward her. "Will you tell me what you wrote?"

"Why should I, when you didn't bother to ask?" She's shouting, cheeks flushed with anger. "A whole week of you knowing about it, and keeping your stubborn mouth shut!"

Her eyes travel my face, and I don't know what revelation she finds there that makes her relent.

"I said that...I didn't expect to find you. But I also have no idea who I am, and being in Sanditon with your family made me realize that I don't know where I fit into your life." She pauses, pursing her lips as she searches for words. "You seemed different there, and after the whole "friend" thing I got scared, but I couldn't leave without telling you I'd wait for you to figure out who I am to you."

Her words hit me all wrong, spreading like hives over my skin. I'm surprised by how much she's let her own uncertainties cloud her judgement of me.

In one swift movement, I step between her legs, pinning her against the wall. Her breath hitches. I can feel her heart pounding against my own, and I have to bite my lips to keep from capturing hers. Her eyes blacken with inky desire, but if I kiss her it will all be over, fucking until we forget, fooling ourselves until we remember how deep our pain goes until the next time this happens.

I caress her neck, gently sweeping upward to cup her face so that she can't escape my gaze. What I'm about to say is important. It holds the power to change everything.

"I love you, Charlotte Heywood--"

"You do?," she whispers, while I brush away the wetness beneath her eyes.

"Yeah, I do. I love you so damn much. You're easily my favourite person in the entire universe. But this was never about the letter, or even you leaving. It's always been about trust."

"Sidney, I do trust you--"

"No, you don't. You think that you do, but you don't! " A sad smile tugs at my lips. "I know you feel lost, but who you are now is essentially who you were before, minus your memories. Your kindness, the things that make you laugh. The fact that you always run when things get tough, as if you've been let down one too many times to believe that this-- that _we_ will be any different."

The startling clarity in her eyes when they collide with mine tells me I've stumbled onto the truth. I press a soft kiss onto her forehead before stepping away to give us both room to breathe.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you, Char?" When she shakes her head dazedly, I power on, afraid that if I stop, I'll lose courage. "When I look at you, I see everything I thought I could never have. I see the person I didn't even know I'd been waiting for, and with just one look you somehow managed to fill the void inside of me. When I watch you sleeping beside me, I feel nothing but joy that you've chosen me, and I know that I want to keep on waking up beside you. I could never get tired of that. I want to be your person. The one you do laundry with, and joke around with, but also the one you trust enough to hold you together when you don't feel strong enough to do it on your own. I want to be the one who gives you what you deserve, the one who loves you when your hair is gray and your eyes wrinkle at the corners from all the times you've smiled, but--"

"But what, Sidney?," she whispers hoarsely. Her lips tremble, afraid of the words to come, and her eyes shine with unshed tears. 

"But how can I be those things when you don't trust me enough to make amends for my mistakes?" I pace nervously, stopping to gasp for air. This is the hardest truth I've ever spoken. "...When I'm not sure of what words will trigger you into leaving again? Charlotte, I love you, but I can't live in constant fear that what we share isn't enough to make you stay...that I'm not enough."

She steps toward me, the lines on her face contorting in the low, pulsating light. Somewhere behind us the music echoes against the club walls, escaping into the open air like a booming figurative heart.

Charlotte reaches up to caress my face, her thumb running across my lips.

"You're enough," she says earnestly. I search her face, desperate to believe her.

"Then tell me that you won't run, no matter how hard it gets. Promise to trust in us."

"Sidney, I--"

I sense her hesitation. It curls into me, furrowing deep along with her unspoken answer. Gently, I pry her fingers from my face and step away, stuffing my hands into my pockets to keep them from shaking. Then I start walking fast and hard in the opposite direction, but not before I hear her adamant footsteps behind me.

"Who’s running now?," she shouts, clearly hurt. I turn to face her, leaning down to kiss her wet cheek.

"I'm not running, babe," I reply, as evenly as I can. "Thing is, you had it all wrong. I never needed space. I've only ever needed you...I'll still be here if and when you decide to fight for us."

I give her one last lingering look before exiting the alleyway of broken hearts and lost dreams.

* * *

As I drive away, every mile I put between Charlotte and myself deepens the gut feeling that walking away from her was the worst mistake I've ever made.

I spoke the truth, every beautifully ugly bit of it, but instead of relief I taste only bitterness. The further I drive, the more I wish I'd just kissed her and let the rest take care of itself. Our argument replays in my head like a broken record, over and over, until I've half convinced myself that I made the whole thing up.

By the time I get home hours later, I'm nauseous, sick with myself over letting her slip away when I could so easily have steered us toward a different outcome. Because relationships are supposed to be a messy amalgamation of the imperfections shared between two people who somehow find a way to make it work despite it all.

A quick peek into Arthur's room reveals that he's not home, an absence that leaves me more hollow than ever. I want to knock on Charlotte's door to beg for a redo, but it's too late for that now.

Instead, I send the text I should have sent over a week ago.

_I love you, and I'm sorry. For everything. Forgive me?_

I stare at the screen for a second, but no response comes, not that I thought it would. Slipping it back into my pocket, I duck into my bedroom, leaning against the wall and letting the night envelop my aching heart. 

"I love you, Sidney. And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry too." 

A tiny voice drifts across the dark room, shocking me speechless with its familiar presence. My heart does endless backflips when I see Charlotte silhouetted on the edge of my bed, facing away from me.

"Everything you said was right. I've been running for so long that I don't know how to stop, but I want to. I want you Sidney, but I'm scared."

Her voice quivers, raw and vulnerable with the emotional toll of baring her deepest fears. Suddenly the distance between us is too much to stand. Wordlessly, I crawl across the bed, resting my legs on either side of her, snaking my arms with hers to lay on her belly. My face snuggles into the curve of her neck, breathing her in, brushing my lips over her pulse point until she shivers and arches her head back to capture my lips.

She kisses me hard, her tongue in my mouth making me forget the pain of every uncertainty between us.

When we part, I gaze at her through hooded eyes, wondering how the fuck I maintained my sanity without her in my arms.

"For the record," I whisper in her ear, "I'm scared too."

When she leans into me, I know she's finally beginning to understand that we'll be okay as long as we're not running from each other. When her warm lips skim my neck, I know that every hardship with her will be worth it. Not perfect, but worth it.

We stay like that a long time, lighting little fires along each other’s skin with hot touches. There's no more room for apologies tonight.

  
  



	36. CHARLOTTE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Gracing you with TWO chapters tonight...
> 
> Happy reading!!

(CHARLOTTE)

 _If and when I decide to fight for us_ . My blood is boiling with anger. He was cruel just now. He allowed his pride and stubbornness, mixed with misguided machismo, to guide his actions. He also walked away, while telling me that _I_ should never have walked away. He walked away, just like she did. The unbearable feeling of eternal loss overtakes my body, as I shake from the chilly breeze outside the bar. An overpowering emptiness takes residence in my heart, reminding me of a feeling I dwelled on for years. Every night, laying in my cold bed, in my dark bedroom, I wondered why she left, never to return. She walked away, just like he did. 

_If and when I decide to fight for us._ My heart is weeping because, the truth is, I don’t know how to trust. Walking away will not heal his hurting heart or fill the gaping ridge between us. It only reinforced the prickling doubt at the bottom of my heart. It only reaffirmed the resounding feeling of loss that has been my constant companion for most of my adult life. Because love is nothing without trust. As I watch him storm out, hands in his pockets, not even looking back, I challenge him to turn around. Because if he doesn’t, I am done with him. The brief lingering look he gives me, when he reaches the end of the alley, saves the evasive _us_ that he told me to fight for…

* * *

I walk back into the bar, the sweaty hotness in the air hitting me straight in the face. I need to find James. He needs to take me home. I collide with Ryan.

“Oh, Char, hey, I was looking for you.” His perkiness makes me even more irritated.

“Hey, Ryan, it’s never gonna happen, all right! Stop wasting your energy here. You and me…” I poke his chest. “…that’s never gonna happen, 'kay!?” He stares at me, shock in his eyes, gaping wordlessly. I don’t have time for diplomacy right now, so I walk away, leaving him standing like a statue. 

“Char?” James’ hesitant voice startles me. “What are you doing here?”

“He walked away.” The hurt is pouring out of every syllable. 

“Let’s get you home.” He guides me out of the bar, pushing people out of his way, cursing under his breath.

The drive to my apartment only takes a few minutes. The silence in the car is overwhelming me. I can sense James’ fury, building sneakily within his chest. Once I close my front door behind us, he explodes.

“ _Who the_ _FUCK_ _does he think he is!_ I don't like how he treated you, Char. Why do you let him play his little games… _Tell me, do you want Ryan like you want me?” James_ is mockingly imitating Sidney’s voice. I did not realize he had heard this. “Such a fucking prick!”

“James, please calm down!” He's scaring me. I have never seen him in such a state. He senses my fear immediately, and retreats into his inner monologue. I can tell he is fuming. “If you want us to talk, you need to calm down first.”

He takes a few minutes, roaming back and forth. The lines on his forehead tell me that he's conflicted. He digs his fingers deep into his curls, standing reflective and troubled.

“I can see that you love him, Char.” His voice is measured. “I am yet to see why.”

“James, what you saw was not his best moment. He was hurt.”

“And him leaving you in the back alley of a bar in the middle of the night was his best moment?”

“No…” I'm just exhausted from this day. I stand up from the chair, ready to head into my bedroom. What I need is to crash into my bed, while hiding under the blanket, because, ultimately, I just _need_ to erase the past 24 hours.

“Char, don’t walk away from this. You need to face your fears.” I stop in my tracks. 

“James, what are you saying?”

“I know how he made you feel tonight. He made you feel empty, lost in your own doubts. And…it reminded you of all those emotions you battled every night, wondering if it was your fault…”

“How do you know that?” He speaks as if he's inside my head, but the raw quiver in his voice tells me that he speaks from experience. “Is that how you felt when your mom left?”

“Yes, for many years… But then I realized that I'm stronger than her. I decided that I wasn't going to let her rushed decision become the defining moment of my entire life. Tonight, you need to face that fear and decide whether you want to break the cycle.”

“But, I thought you didn't like Sidney…”

“I don’t. He hasn't done anything to convince me that he deserves you. But, if you love him, you need to take a solid step towards him, even if you feel betrayed by tonight’s events…”

I don’t know how James can be so strong, so certain of his worth, so balanced. I don’t know what it must have taken for him to become so mature, so perceptive, so emotionally insightful. I lack all of those qualities. 

He looks at me with profound sadness that makes me hurt for him, for me, for the circumstances of our lives. Because he is also jovial and charming. He has repressed joie de vivre, hidden tightly in the corner of his eyes. I wish he could let it out, carefree. But I am pulling him down. He is constantly trying to save me; to protect me; to encourage me… 

And what have I done to support him? I've been sucking his energy like a vampire, breathing the joy out of him. So, as I watch him in this moment, a portrait of sorrow, frozen in time, I pull myself together. No more self-pity. No more running. I will face life with eyes wide open, not hiding behind his shadow. It has been comfortable there, but happiness only comes through friction, and sweat, and tears, and grit. 

I give James a kiss on the forehead and squeeze his shoulders tightly in a hug. 

“Thank you! For everything.”

I run to my bedroom and call Arthur. 

“Hello?” His voice is rough, as if I just woke him up. 

“I need your help, Arthur!” I end up by their apartment door in a split second. 

Arthur looks disheveled, dark circles under his eyes. He also looks weary and defeated. 

“How can I help?”

I sit him down to tell him about my plan, as fast as I can, in one breath. 

“So, you see, I need to wait for him here tonight. I'm taking a solid step forward.” I hesitate, as it's hard to tell what Arthur’s thinking. We are both tired to the point of delirium. 

“Yes! You wait for him in his bedroom. I'll make make myself scarce. There’s always Georgiana’s couch.” Poor Arthur tugs himself upward, his body wobbling. I steady him upright. 

“I owe you big. You have been my rock all these weeks. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” I watch him drag himself out of the apartment, while calling Georgiana. I hear his voice in the hallway, while waiting for the elevator. He's making excuses for me. I'm sure Georgiana is hugely displeased with this whole ordeal. 

I sit on Sidney’s bed, in the dark. It’s eerily quiet in the apartment. His scent is imprinted on the walls in this room. I run my fingers across the cover of his bed, sensations of his touch running through my head. He’s made me moan and plead under these covers, digging burning lips all over my skin. Our desire for each other was all-consuming from the start. It was like a spark that boomed into a raging fire at once. 

I feel the magnetic pull before he enters the apartment. I still myself, holding my breath with anticipation. What if he doesn't want to see me in his bedroom right now? Then, my phone vibrates with his text message and I exhale with relief. My palms are still sweating. I don’t remember much of my life before Sidney, but I am certain that I've never done anything so recklessly romantic. I have never surrendered to the complete abandon of my heart’s desires. His closeness is enough to tip the dominoes of wishes in motion, my words too slow to catch up with my lips. When I kiss him hard, I know what fighting for _us_ tastes like.

* * *

After I give Sidney a long morning kiss, I rush back to my apartment to make my favorite coffee. James did not stay for the night. He must have gone home. He needs some “me” time, just like the rest of us. It’s time for me to submit my weekly story to the newspaper. The little income that has been coming from these short stories is enough to keep me going, and I am so grateful for the continued interest. After I hit the “send” button in my inbox, I decide to initiate my investigation into my mom’s art. 

My first Google search into the art of Almaviva reveals a gallery exhibit in Sanditon, which includes one of my mom’s paintings. My heart skips a beat. What a strange coincidence. The painting is called “ _Touching Water”_ and it was painted around the time my mom must have been pregnant with me. They don’t have a picture of it in the brochure. I must see it. 

“Esther, how do you feel about a short trip to Sanditon?” I text my fierce friend impulsively. 

“Whyyyyyyy?” Naturally, her response is sassy.

“You’ll be my sidekick… Or, maybe…I’ll be yours. I have a mission.”

“Now I'm intrigued!”


	37. JAMES

(JAMES)

This day has been too much even for me. As Char leaves me alone in her apartment, I long for my bed. Her apartment is too tidy, the bathroom smelling of lilies. I'm afraid to touch anything in the kitchen. Char has organized things in such a particular way, I am sure I will mess it up. I miss my man cave, and I certainly need an actual bed to crash in. My neck is stiff from Char’s couch. It’s the most uncomfortable couch in the world. It’s sacrilege that she bought it without seeking my advice. I make furniture for a living, after all. I gather my things and head out.

The cool breeze outside will surely shake me up a bit. I'm beyond exhausted. As I get into the elevator, I find Arthur almost dozing off.

“Oh, Char’s godly looking brother!” He smiles. “What brings you here?”

“I need to finally sleep in my bed. No better night than tonight.”

He gives me an inquisitive look. I know he knows exactly what happened at the bar this evening. At last, he scuffs with exaggeration. 

“I envy you. I'm playing the savior angel again…story of my life. I get to sleep on one of the most disagreeable couches ever made.”

This makes me laugh out loud. 

“It sounds like we both suffer the same fate. Char’s couch is atrocious too. Do you need a lift to wherever you're going?”

His face lights up. A broad smile overtakes half of it. 

“Oh, you are also sweet and kind! It must run in the family. Would you and Char adopt me?”

“She tells me you're an excellent cook. So, yes, welcome in the family, brother!” We both chuckle as we head into the parking lot.

He gives me his friend’s address. I haven't had the pleasure to meet this Georgiana, but based on his description, she is quite the character. Arthur seems to be in his element, any trace of sleepiness gone, as he recounts countless stories of mischief with him and Georgiana. I have no idea how Sidney survives the duo. I'm actually terrified for his safety just listening to his recollection of pranks. Arthur continues.

“Just this morning, I gave Sid a good ‘ol prank, or two, but he deserved it. He’s been a stubborn son of a gun. You would think that he'd chase after the only girl that has ever been good for him, but no, he prefers to dwell in his misery.” I'm slightly uneasy with where this conversation is headed. I don’t particularly like Sidney. “I understand you met my brother under… well, not the best of circumstances.”

“I'm not too impressed with your brother, Arthur.” I wince, thinking my words come out harsher than intended.

“You have to give him a chance. He truly is a diamond in the rough, a solid and loyal companion. God, I just made him sound like a dog..." He throws his head back, laughing. "I do know that when he finds the one he loves it will be forever. And, I know it’s Char.”

He sounds so optimistic and certain that I'm tempted to believe him, but Sidney hasn't proven himself to me or Char at all. I drop off Arthur in front of his friend’s apartment building.

“Thanks for the lift, brother dear!” He exclaims cheerfully. His sense of humor is refreshing. 

“Cheers, Arthur! See you around. I can’t wait to try your notorious cooking... _brother dear_.”

* * *

After a healthy eight hours of sleep in my bed, I feel resurrected. I text Char to see how she's doing. She seems to be in an optimistic mood, so I assume things worked out last night. I just don’t think those two are over the bump yet. Both still have too many issues to work out. Char is planning a day out with Esther, but she's being all mysterious about where she is going and what they're doing. I guess I need to stay out of their hair.

“ _James, Arthur texted. Come over this afternoon and he’ll cook some food for us. He said he owes you big. What did I miss?”_

“ _LOL. He is part of our family now.”_

_“???”_

_“I’ll explain later. See you for dinner then!”_

After a few hours of work, crafting a very elaborate master frame, I head over to Char’s place. She's still not back, so I let myself in and put on the TV. A solid knock on the door gets me out of the chair. It’s probably Arthur, coming over to start the prep on his cooking extravaganza. I am surprised to find Sidney at the door.

“Erm…hey. Is Char here?”

I feel myself tense up, the anger from last night pouring back into my veins, running rashly across my body.

“She's out with Esther.” My voice comes out rough and deep. “They should be back any minute You want to come in to wait for her?” I invite an opportunity to grill the guy a bit. His features are strangely familiar, but I can't place him. He hesitates, clearly unprepared for unscheduled alone time with his girlfriend’s brother.

“Uhm, sure.” He walks in tentatively. “I can come back later, too. I don’t want to interrupt.”

“You're not interrupting. I'm waiting for them too.” I lead him to the living room. “You want something to drink?” Playing host in my sister’s apartment is not my forte. Pretending to be friendly with the guy I wanted to punch last night feels even more awkward.

The silence and intensity in the air between us charge quickly. One of us needs to break it up before it escalates. 

“I didn’t appreciate the little stunt you pulled on Char last night. Leaving her alone in the dark alley of a bar hardly constitutes gentlemanly behavior.” 

His features strain. And suddenly, like a memory from a bad dream, I recognize him. The blood drains out of my face. Of all the guys in the goddamn world, why did Char have to fall in love with him?! I curse inwardly.

“Look, James, Char and I can handle our love life just fine. We don’t need anyone’s approval," he says sternly.

“Oh, I beg to differ! I won’t allow you to manipulate her with your little games.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, man?! I love your sister!” The anger clearly rises up, his voice thunderous.

“Do you? In my book, you haven't done anything to show it. She doesn’t remember it, but her last relationship was poisonous. The idiot kept playing with her insecurities, tempting her, then pushing her away. I won’t allow that to happen again, do you understand?” My words are booming, traveling across the entire apartment, as I stand there ominously threatening.

And then a key turns in the lock, a loud creak, and Char and Esther appear at the door, at first oblivious to our presence. When the apprehension in the air reaches them, they freeze. We are all at a standstill.


	38. SIDNEY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, life has been hectic these past few days. 
> 
> Stay tuned for all kinds of expl💥sions this chapter-- and as always, happy reading!

(SIDNEY)

_\- I hate you /// - I hate you too_

I was betrayed by Arthur first. And as he rambled on through the phone about chicken tagine at Char's, begging me to abandon the mile high stack of papers I needed to mark, I was betrayed again by my grumbling stomach as it rose up in violent protest. Apparently Yoohoo and a lifetime supply of Doritos are poor substitutes for actual food.

What my darling brother failed to mention was that I was walking into a fucking trap.

Of all the people on the face of this planet, James is the last person I wanted to be stuck in a room with - especially after last night. Judging from the unpleasant look on his face, he feels exactly the same way. In the split second it takes me to realize that Charlotte isn't at home, it's too late to make a graceful exit. We're all harsh words and awkward angles, neither one of us pretending to like each other as we engage in what promises to be an epic brother-boyfriend showdown.

He's dripping with hostility; it seeps out of his pores like steam on hot pavement, embedded in the sharp sting of his eyes and the jagged edge of his reluctant words. His murderous glare tells me that he thinks I'm a shitty excuse for a human being. The way I glare back tells him that he has no right to make assumptions when he doesn't fucking know me. I breathe out shakily, feeling stifled. This room is too small to house both his anger and my resentment, too flimsy to withstand our open distrust.

Listen, I don't consider myself to be an overly proud person. Most days, my ego is kept carefully, (and sometimes painfully) in check by Arthur. I'm certainly not proud of how I handled my fallout with Char, but right now I'm too hungry to focus, and too flipping tired to deal with another tongue-lashing. I'm on the verge of asking James for a raincheck on his wrath when he lays into me hard, unleashing a scathing treatise on why Sidney Parker will never be good enough for Charlotte Heywood.

_Reason One: Just because_

_Reason Two: I Don't like you_

_Reason Three: You suck...._

The funny thing is, I let him.

Because I deserve it, don't I? What have I actually done to prove my love to Charlotte, or to anyone on the outside looking in? I mean, I haven't even taken her on a proper date, or bought her an assortment of corny clichés. My declarations of love for her have been whispered feverishly between the sheets, or spoken either in anger or apology.

I can't fault James for wanting to protect his sister. He doesn't need to like me, although part of me can't help wishing that he did, that we'd met when I wasn't making a fool of myself in a sketchy alley.

Just the same, I can't quite ignore the dark underbelly of - s _hame? fear?_ \- driving his words. When I look up at him, he's white as a sheet, his throat bobbing up and down as he swallows whatever secret he's been chewing on. He's afraid of something, though I can't pinpoint what. 

He doesn't give me time to process his blows, and all too soon he's talking about Charlotte, telling me about a chapter in her history she can't recall. I'm nauseated at being in possession of this narrative, of knowing more about her than she does. His knowing gaze slices through me like a knife when he equates me with Charlotte's last good-for-nothing scumbag boyfriend. Something vicious snaps inside me at the mention of the nameless idiot who treated the woman I love like trash, my fists clenching painfully because, fucking hell, _I would never--_

"I hope we're not interrupting your little cock fight, boys." Esther's amused drawl cuts the charged silence. I didn't even notice them come in. 

"Please don't tell me you were fighting," says Charlotte worriedly, glancing at her brother. "James, you promised to be nice!"

"I did no such thing," he grits out. 

"Of course they were fighting, Char, just look at them! Sid looks like he just laid an egg, and your brother, well, if he breathes any harder, he'll pass out." She smirks, looking between us quizzically. "By all means, don't stop on our account. You two are more entertaining than reality TV... _and, and, and_ \-- I brought snacks." She jostles a brown paper bag full of chips and other bad ideas.

"Good God, we weren't fighting!" I half shout, massaging the rapidly deepening crease between my eyes.

"Highly doubtful."

"Agreed. It's Esther, isn't it?," James stretches out his hand in greeting, but she doesn't take it, choosing instead to give him a scathing once-over. "Well, alright then, I'll just put my hand away. As I was saying, we weren't fighting so much as letting each other know exactly where we stand. For example, Sidney now knows that I hate his fucking guts and--"

"JAMES!" Charlotte cuffs his arm, blushing brightly. "Say you're sorry. Right. Now."

"Absolutely not! I meant every word I said to him. He doesn't get to jerk you around and get away with it."

"That is not what happened and you know it!" She steps up to to him menacingly, tilting her face up to meet his. "Now apologize before I kick you where it hurts."

"We both know you won't do that, Char."

"Just try me."

"I'll believe it when I see it." He closes the tiny space between them, crossing his arms.

"Ughhhhh you're impossible!"

The way they argue could give me and Arthur a run for our money. My heart races to hear her defending me, sinking just as quickly when I think about how I've let her down in comparison. Esther sidles up to me just in time to curb my self-pity.

"Say nothing," she whispers, while Char and James continue to spar in the background, "This is free entertainment and I will not let you ruin it for me."

"I find it highly disturbing that you get high off of others' pain, Esther."

"I said say nothing!," she hisses, taking me by surprise, "I haven't forgiven you for giving me a C minus on my paper. Seriously Sid, what the fuck?"

Holy hell, this is entire conversation is one long runtogether sentence I could do without. I choose my words carefully, knowing full well they may be my last.

"Honestly, what did you expect? You titled your essay " _Conclusive Proof That Most Humans Have No Soul,_ " and cited Wikipedia as a scholarly resource. But hey, points for making laugh."

She elbows me in the abdomen with the grace of a woman who knows the value of torture in getting what she wants, smiling wickedly when I double over pain.

"I...hate...you," I wheeze.

"And I am ridiculously ok with that," she counters indifferently, just as the front door flies open yet again. We all fall silent as Arthur, Georgie and Babbers tumble in on the tail end of a draft, arms full of assorted shopping bags. 

"Well you're a sorry looking lot, aren't you?," booms Arthur, as his excited gaze travels between us, no doubt picking up on the multiple layers of tension slicking the room. "Time to pull the figurative sticks out of your asses, because the fun has arrived!"

"Wow. That was...graphic," says James slowly, as if he can't quite believe that Arthur is real.

"Pardon my French, but I came here for a good time. You can all leave if you're going to rain on my parade."

" _Us, leave_? Dude, this isn't even your place!"

"Oh, James," says Arthur, patting his cheek matter of factly, "you have much to learn, my young padawan."

Esther regards them both with disgust, rolling her eyes languidly. Babbers coughs nervously into his sleeve, while Georgie looks like she might burst with laughter. Somewhere in the midst of all this, Charlotte's hand finds mine.

"Come with me," she whispers, leading me to her bedroom.

* * *

I close the door gently behind us, relieved to finally be alone with Charlotte. She left my bed too quickly this morning, with only a sleepy kiss that left me wanting more. She didn't tell me where she was going, and I didn't ask even though I wanted to. I'm not naive enough believe that a single night would solve all the broken things between us.

"Are you ok,?" she asks, hesitantly reaching up to trace a line down my jaw to my lips, as if checking for battle wounds. "James can be a bit intense... he means well, but sometimes I think he forgets that other people have feelings."

I catch her hand where it rests on my face, holding tight.

"I'm fine, Char. No harm done, honestly... I'm strangely comforted by the fact that your brother will kill me if I ever break your heart. I'm sure that knowledge will keep me warm at night."

Her free hand skates down my neck and shoulder, coming to rest where my heart beats. Then she leans forward and snorts into my chest, burying her face against me as uncontrollable laughter ripples through her body. It's dorky and awkward and unbearably sweet, but with that one tiny gesture, I know that I'd kill to have an infinity of dorky moments with her in my arms. 

I love her, plain and simple. My heart overflows with it. Charlotte Heywood is my truth, and I never want to know what it feels like to be without her again.

She brushes her lips against mine. "He didn't scare you off, then?"

"Not even a little."

"Good," she replies breathlessly, capturing my lips in a slow, lazy tease, her tongue swirling with mine, pulling me deeper. "Because I thought about you all day. About this."

My skin tingles as her palms connect with my bare chest beneath my shirt, tugging it upward, sliding up and around to trace the ridges of my back. My lips find hers again, her teeth skating across my bottom lip, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to my core. Her mouth quirks into a smile, sinking hot and fast against mine, coaxing it open. She tastes like coffee and pastries and something so undeniably primal that it drives me insane.

Wandering fingers find the hem of her shift dress, yanking it upward for better access to her smooth thighs and perfect ass. She whimpers softly when I break our kiss to trail hot kisses down her neck, letting her fingers dig into my skin to compensate for the loss. Gripping her hips, I pull her to me so so she knows just how badly I ache, how much I need to be inside her.

"God, Char-- these tiny dresses are going to be the death of me."

She looks up at me then, with eyes like dark pools of desire, stepping back to pull the dress over her head in one swift move. My eyes rove hungrily over her barely there bra and panties, agonizingly aware only of how badly I want her.

"Fucking hell," I breathe, "are we really going to do this?"

Suddenly, the hum of background chatter, of glasses clinking and pots banging on the stove seems louder than it did a moment before. The allure of quiet sex, of trying to drown our fevered moans in endless kisses only makes this more thrilling.

In answer, Charlotte unclasps her bra, slipping it off and letting it fall to the ground. _Oh god, she's taking charge and it's killing me_. I reach out to cup the full curve of her breast, tracing circles around her nipple before tugging hard. She bites down on her lip to keep from screaming her pleasure.

"Take off your shirt, and lock the door," comes her whispered command.

"Yes ma'am," I reply, doing exactly what she says.

* * *

If our friends suspect what happened behind closed doors, they're surprisingly close-lipped about it when we rejoin them a short while later. I have no idea if we managed to stifle our bedroom antics, or if they were just too preoccupied to notice. There's also the possibility that I'm freaking out because I just had hot sex with my girlfriend in the middle of the day while our friends watched cheap TV in the other room. 

_Calm the fuck down, Sid. Mind outta the gutter_.

Charlotte catches my eyes from across the room, and I immediately feel my heart begin to race again. I run my hand up my face and through my hair, smiling cause she's making me blush like a pubescent teen. She was really something else just now, gentle and rough, telling me what she wanted and taking me how she liked. 

I turn away, sauntering into the kitchen. I have a brother to throttle, and besides, if I stare at Charlotte any longer I'll be tempted to devise a repeat. The tangy smell of slow cooked chicken, olives and pickled lemon hits me as soon as I turn the corner, making my mouth water. Arthur stands hunkered over the stove, the steam from the tagine smacking him right in the face. 

"Fork the couscous, would you?" He gestures blindly at a saran wrapped ceramic bowl. I scrounge around for a fork before lifting the wrap to mix in the pine nuts and raisins. I'm so damn hungry all I can think about is shovelling the whole thing into my mouth.

"Where'd you disappear to earlier?," he asks. "I was looking for you."

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to." A devious smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I glance at Arthur, whose eyes grow wide in understanding. 

"Point taken. Forget I asked." We work in silence for a minute or two before I ask the question that's been burning a hole in my brain.

"Hey, did you know Char wasn't home when you sent me down earlier? Because it was a real fucking pleasure talking to James about why I'll never be good enough for his sister."

"Don't know what you're talking about," he quips, a little too quickly for my liking.

"Dragon's den, dude. That was real low of you. I was nowhere near close to ready."

The pot spoon lands with a clatter on the counter as he turns around to face me, cheeks glistening red.

"Oh, boohoo Sid. Cry me a river and man up. It's never going to be the right time. If i don't push you, you'll never be ready--"

"Sure I will, just preferably not the day after he meets me in the worst way possible! I mean, it's probably impossible for him to hate me more."

"Honestly, do you blame him?" He narrows his eyes, pinning me with a shrewd, assessing gaze that makes me shrink back. "You're sleeping with his sister, and all you've done is shown him the worst of you. If Charlotte is going to be a serious part of your life, you're going to have to face the only family who means something to her. Not tomorrow, or ten years down the road, but right fucking now."

"Ughhhhh, do I have to? He's a jerk." Deep down, I know he's right, but it's more satisfying to complain.

"Think about the hell he's been though, Sid. He lost contact with Charlotte. We don't know why, but when he finally found her, not only had she lost her memory, but she'd shacked up with her professor-slash-neighbour who ignored her for days before abandoning her in a shady back alley. He just wants to make sure that you're treating her right...and so do I."

I groan frustratedly, resting my forehead against the cool upper cabinet. Somewhere in the background, a collective roar of laughter pierces the smoggy air, followed by Esther shouting at Babbers to keep his hands off the merchandise. Poor guy.

"God, Arthur, I hate it when you're right."

"Yeah, I know, but only one of us can be perfect."

"Ain't that the truth," I mutter, not sorry at all for the guy standing beside me. 

"Speaking of stupid, jerky brothers, have you spoken to Tom since..."

"...since finding out that he's an asshole for burning Charlotte's letter on purpose? Let's just say, I was forwarded to voicemail. Surprise, surprise."

In truth, Tom hasn't left my mind all day. I'm more furious with him than ever, appalled that he would stoop so low, my blood boiling over when I think of him turning Charlotte away at the door. His irrational behavior doesn't compute, and no matter how many ways I shift the pieces around, I just can't make sense of why he acted as he did. Somewhere in Tom's web of deceit lies a deeper truth, and I need to know how I factor into whatever scheme he's up to.

"So what are you going to do about it?," Arthur asks, interrupting my train of thought.

"I'm going back to Sanditon. I need answers." Because really, there's no other option but to face him head on.

"Hell yeah," says Arthur, grinning widely. "Dibs on punching him again!"


	39. ESTHER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new perspective further unravels the mystery of Charlotte's past...but what does it all mean? And where will she find the answers she needs?

(ESTHER)

Everyone needs a sassy friend, with fabulous hair, and an extended vocabulary of cheeky insults. I wasn't born yesterday, and I know good drama when I see it. So, today ended up being a glorious day, full of mysteries, awkwardness and well-concealed secrets. And, I was there for every minute of it, pulling the strings. None of my friends realize that I just directed a superb episode of “Friends” with all of them being the unsuspecting protagonists.

* * *

Char’s mysterious text this morning about me being her “sidekick” (like I could ever be anything other than the lead superhero) got me curious. I was dying to know what she had in mind, so I had to find the best excuse to jolt out of the office. My boss was droning in the background, when I clapped my hands with excitement and shoved my laptop down my purse. 

“Esther, where do you think you're going? The meeting is not over!” I suppress the ominous eye roll that is forming and enact the high-pitched pleasant reporter voice.

“Sorry, all, I just got a lead! A girl needs to follow her leads, if a girl wants to make the front page.” Everyone gasps. Jealous Bob (or whatever his real name is) spills his coffee all over his pants, as he stares in shock. Brown noser Cindy proceeds to offer help by tapping napkins all over the hot mess. A gurgle of laughter slowly develops in my throat and I know that I need to leave before it explodes. 

“What lead?” My boss has been on my case for a big story for weeks now. I can see the spark of excitement in his greedy eyes. He loves to be the first to report on saucy news, even without checking his sources that closely. He is a disgusting slug, but he lets me write what I want and how I want it, so I tolerate him… temporarily. “I need to know more. Now!”

“Gotta run!” I pretend that I don't hear him, as I slam open the door of the conference room, the staccato of my heels echoing across the newsroom. I have a couple of admirers on the floor and I can sense their pervy gazes checking me out, head to butt to toes. Ugh.

* * *

I knock on Char’s door impatiently. She finally opens and I plunge in like an assailant. 

“So?? What’s the mission?” I wait for an answer, hands on my hips, tapping my foot on the kitchen tile like a metronome. 

“Good morning to you too, Esther! Would you like some coffee?” Char conceals a smile, as she motions towards the kitchen table.

“I'm sorry! I still haven’t gotten out of my reporter mode.”

“ _Reporter_ _mode_?” She laughs out loud. “Is that a thing?”

I slump onto the chair. I don’t particularly like it, but unless a job offer from _the New York Times_ mysteriously ends up in my inbox, I have to work for “the slug.” 

“If you don’t like it, why do you do it?” Char seems genuinely interested. This girl is too perfect for my taste.

“Not all of us have rich benefactors in Spain, you know.”

“You have a point, but I am not touching his money… I rely on my own income now.”

“Why?” I don’t get Char. She is so stubborn and proud. Her dad sends her money. Why wouldn’t she want to take it?

“James told me that the money actually comes from my dad selling my _mom’s_ art.”

“What??” This is new information. “So, your mom is _alive_?”

“I think so…see, I had this dream that she left us when I was little and my dad was angry. But…I think I can find her. James told me that she painted under a pseudonym. A gallery in Sanditon has one of her works.” Her voice is small and hesitant. She seems hopeful, yet scared. 

“Why don’t you just ask James about it?” Char surprises me sometimes. There are still so many questions hanging in the air between her and her brother. I don’t get why she is waiting to ask them. 

“Esther…” Little drops are forming at the bottom of her eyes. My question struck a chord. “I'm not sure I'm ready for all these revelations. All at once. I want to discover some of these answers on my own…with your help, perhaps?”

I'm such an idiot sometimes. Insensitive too. Most days I catch the nuances of human emotions, but today is apparently not one of those days. Of course she does not want to find out everything all at once. It could be scary, devastating, heartbreaking…I mean, just plain awful. _If she leads the way, then she controls the pace._ A simple question to James can open Pandora’s box. 

“How can I help?” 

“How about a trip to Sanditon?”

We gather a few things, note down the address of the gallery, and head out to the parking lot. 

“Ok, so, as my sidekick, you have to let me drive.” Char laughs, throwing her head backwards as she heads towards the passenger door.

“I'm not gonna argue with that! Only request I have - please don’t go anywhere near Sanditon House.” She gives me a pointed look. “If I see Tom, I might have the urge to punch him.”

“Ha ha! You're still running away from that house like it’s haunted. To your credit, though, it sounds like the house is haunted by the ghost of Tom Parker, burning letters in the night…” Tom Parker is such a moron. Some days I wonder if he was adopted. 

As we ride in silence, I remember the gazillion times Sid saved Tom’s ass. He sacrificed his tenure as a professor at one of the most prestigious institutions of higher education to save the family business. He put all his savings on the line for moron Tom. And for what!? Sid never wanted to have anything to do with the business, but he felt compelled to help resurrect it from the ashes, as it was his parents’ legacy; the last remnant of what they built. Tom was so close to ruination that Sid could not bear it. Not because of Tom himself, the guy is a lunatic who labels himself as a “visionary,” but Mary is a decent human being, and the kiddos are adorable. 

“Such an idiot!” I curse whisper under my breath. Char gives me a questioning look. 

“You alright, hon?”

“No! I'm pissed at Tom. I don’t get his angle. Why would he turn you away at the door and then burn your letter? What is he afraid of?”

“I have no clue. He seems to like Eliza for Sid, from what I can tell.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes most emphatically. 

“That blonde bitch! Pffft! If Tom likes her so much he should marry her!”

We both start laughing. Somehow the thought of Tom Parker married to Eliza Campion makes us both hysterical. That marriage wouldn’t last two minutes.

* * *

I stop the car in front of a cute little gallery. The street is picturesque and lively. I can see why everyone flocks down to Sanditon during the summer. I wouldn’t mind sitting outside one of those little cafes to write my articles, a big sun hat covering my red mane. I may even get an artist to take an interest and do my portrait. But time has stopped here. There is no news to report. Maybe I should convince Babbs to buy a little vacation home here. When the little one is born, it would be nice to have a place of quiet. 

“You ready for this?” I look at Char closely. She is white as a sheet. 

“Oh, Esther, what if this is a huge mistake?”

“Char, look at my lips very closely. THIS. IS. NOT. A. MISTAKE.” I articulate every word slowly. “You need to know the truth, ok? Let’s go!”

I open the door for her and offer my hand. She hesitates just a little, but then grabs onto me tightly, takes a deep breath, and gets out of the car. 

The ding dong of the bell, as we open the door, shakes us both into the present. The art here is breathtaking. I stop in my tracks taken aback by the enormity of the talent in this small room. 

“Wow!” Is the only reaction I manage to mutter. 

Char’s eyes are glued to a large painting in the near distance. She seems hypnotized by it. I follow her gaze to the painting, placed front and center on the most prominent wall in the gallery. It represents turbulent waters, the ominous clifftops sharply falling towards it. The sky is furious, dark grey clouds. A man is swimming, fighting his way across the threatening waves. A woman on the beach is looking out in his direction. All the light in the painting is on her. She looks like a mystical creature from the water, her long hair falling just below her navel. We only see her profile, but she is bewitching. The painting has such presence, it’s disconcerting. 

“This is it.” Char whispers. She's shaking, and I have to steady her, before we head in the direction of the painting.

The little tag next to the painting reads “ _Touching Water. Almaviva_.” Char runs her trembling fingers through her mom’s work. 

“Miss, please don’t touch the painting!” A raspy voice from behind startles us. 

I turn around briskly, ready to protect her, to see an old gentleman with long white hair, coral blue eyes, and a face laced by deep crevasses.

“We want to buy this painting!” I say eagerly. 

“Miss, this is an exposition. None of the works we exhibit here at the moment are for sale.”

“So who do we talk to if we want to buy this?” I point towards the painting, trying to appear knowledgeable, but I'm way out of my depth. 

“This one is not for sale.” His answer is unapologetically firm. 

“We want to speak to the owner.” I insist.

“He is not interested!” He raises his voice, and I am about to do the sane when I feel Char’s warm hand on my shoulder. Then, she speaks, her tone calm, almost soothing.

“Sir, we apologize. This painting touches the soul in unimaginable ways. It’s expressiveness is so powerful that it captures you as soon as you walk in. Of course the owner would not be interested in selling it…”

The old gentleman’s rigid features warm up at Char’s comment, and he smiles at her with agreement.

“Yes, miss. No one has said this before, but I agree with you wholeheartedly. I would never part with this painting.”

I gasp with astonishment. So, _he_ is the owner. 

“Could you tell me a little bit about the artist?” Char’s voice is quivering, but she attempts to keep her composure. 

The old man's clear blue eyes get darker with the cloud of sadness. 

“She painted this as a tribute to my son. He was an avid swimmer… The waves took his life one day, most unexpectedly. It was a storm for the ages. I told him not to go, but his attachment to the sea was more powerful than my warnings…” 

“I am so sorry.” Char breathes, an urgent question clearly on her lips. “Did… did Almaviva know your son?”

“Oh, yes, she did!” He nods emphatically. “She was devastated by his death, just as I was…”

I'm rapidly losing patience with this chit chat. We came here to find Char’s mom.

“Where can we find her?” I ask impatiently.

“I wouldn’t know...” He says thoughtfully. “I have not seen her since then.”

“Do you know where we can find more of her work?” I put my reporter hat on, spitting questions relentlessly. 

“I am sorry. I don’t believe I can be of help. Her paintings are expensive from what I hear. I only own this one because she gifted it to the gallery in memoriam.”

“You must at least know her real name!” 

He gives me a cold look, and I know that I took it too far. Char takes my hand and squeezes it, a sign that she wants me to stop. Then, she proceeds.

“We apologize for all the questions. We must seem impertinent and rude. We are so sorry for your loss. I do hope that this painting brings you peace, perhaps even closure…” Char is so much better in this situation. You can feel the empathy in her voice, the sincerity of her words. I might have ruined her chances of finding out more. I am certain she regrets asking me to accompany her. She drags me towards the exit, as she smiles gently at the old gentleman. “Thank you for your time, sir!” 

“No problem, miss! You know… you do look just like her.”

* * *

The drive back is silent. Char doesn't say a single work, looking out, pensive and sad.

“I'm sorry, Char! I think I ruined this.”

“No, Esther, I wouldn't have gone without you. So, thank you for coming along. Next time, let’s tone down on the interrogations perhaps…” 

She's right. I can be a bit too forceful and impatient. I should have allowed her to lead the conversation. 

“I promise to keep my flappy mouth shut next time.”

We stop by to grab some food, talking about all the different reasons why her mom might have known the man in the painting. Were they friends? Lovers? I might do some digging on my own to help Char. I owe her that much at least. This old man in the gallery knows things. We devise a plan to return, but I solemnly swear to wait in the car, if and when we go back. 

We talk excitedly as I park the car. Char makes me promise to keep this whole thing under wraps. She doesn’t want to share the details yet. Not with James; not with Sidney. When we get up to her apartment, I know why. Those two are about to kill each other. James’ menacing posture and Sidney’s fuming nostrils remind me of two bulls in a sea of red. Char takes Sid aside, and soon enough, I hear the turning of the lock in the bedroom. I am a _huge_ fan of this girl! She's getting some, while her unsuspecting brother is desperately trying to figure us all out. This makes for perfect entertainment. James throws a quick glance in the direction of Char’s bedroom. 

“Please tell me that they're in there _talking_.” James seethes. 

“Oh, they're _talking_ alright!” I say sarcastically, and everyone explodes in laughter. James is not amused. 


	40. TOM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A healthy dose of Tom for you, and hopefully some answers. Can you figure how Eliza fits into all this?
> 
> You'll either hate him less or love him more. Actually, strike that. I doubt you'll love him more.
> 
> Happy reading! Drop your thoughts and theories below!

(TOM)

_"Fear is the path to the Dark Side. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering." -Yoda_

The cool water felt good against my bruised face. The man staring back at me in the mirror, however, looked like he'd purchased a one-way ticket to hell. Over a week later and my eyes were still stained with the bloodshot residue of Sidney’s fist cutting through stubborn skin and bone. 

_What a fucker_. I still couldn't believe that he'd punched me, although a small voice whispered that I deserved it, and more. I squinted at myself, attempting to soften the angry cut, reaching up tentatively to press my fingers against where it hurt most.

"Great. Just fucking great," I muttered under my breath as the slight pressure caused the wound to ooze clear pink liquid.

I gripped the edges of the sink and bowed my head, hoping the sound of rushing water would drown my worries and wash away a dozen years of shame. Only, it wasn't working, not even a little.

"You dinner's getting cold." Mary's icy voice startled me, and I looked up to see her reflection staring blankly back at mine. 

"Won't you...sit with me?," I asked hopefully, even though I knew the answer. "The kids are asleep...we could light a few candles, talk like the old days?"

She blinked with contempt before looking away, blatantly igoring my question.

"Have you talked to Sidney yet? Or Arthur?" I met her eyes, but didn't answer as a fresh wave of guilt hit me hard. "Oh, and Rich Campion called again," she continued reluctantly, her soft voice edged with resentment. "On the house phone this time. Maybe you should consider calling him back before this gets worse...but what do I know? It's not like you tell me anything."

I gripped the sink harder to keep my fingers from trembling, stretching out stiffly to turn off the tap. My heart thumped madly, as dread snaked its way through my body.

"What did he say?," I asked hoarsely, only to be met with silence. When I stole a glance into the mirror, Mary had disappeared, leaving me utterly alone with only dangerous thoughts for company. 

She still hadn't forgiven me for the incident with Sidney, that much I knew - nor had I asked her to. Doing so would be tantamount to admitting defeat, rendering my entire life's work meaningless.

In a decade of marriage, we'd never had a rift this deep. She'd taken to sleeping in the guest room, making it clear that I wasn't welcome until I told her " _what the fuck was going on._ " I ached for her, but I couldn't let one moment of crazed indiscretion over a silly letter from a silly girl, resurrect a host of secrets that needed to stay buried. For everyone's good.

Sighing deeply, I trudged out of the washroom and into my office. I chose to ignore my gnawing hunger in favour of tipping a finger of bourbon into a shot glass and taking a hefty sip. I hated the stuff, but it looked impressive to prospective clients, sitting prettily in its crystal decanter. As I surveyed the room in the dim light, everything glistened with shame, screaming of misspent money and unnecessary expense. 

There are some truths that can only be whispered in shadow, when alone in the dark. I sat down in a creased armchair, letting the soft leather hug my bones, giving the night permission to unravel secrets I held close, ones that now threatened to expose the blood on my hands.

I could be honest with myself, if no one else.

The life I'd built was imploding, plain and simple. Two years ago, I truly believed I could change things. I'd taken Sidney’s hard earned money and used it to build an extension instead of making good on my promise to turn the business around. I could handle my brother's anger, but if Mary knew the half of it, she'd leave me in a heartbeat and take the kids with her. That scared me more than anything, because how could I possibly begin to explain this went deeper than Sid's bailout, that I'd been fucking things up for years, one bad decision rolling into the next until there was no way out--

_The truth?_

How many truths do you want? Because I can dish them out like dollar bills in a ghetto parking lot. How much honesty can you handle before you break? Or better yet, which version should I tell you? How about the one I can think, but never speak...

 _The truth is that I killed my parents_.

* * *

There's more than one way to pull the trigger. Sometimes you don't even intend for it to happen, and yet it does, an unforseen consequence of stupidity, or greed. Or both, in my case. I certainly didn't intend for my parents to die, or for Sidney to-- God, I can't even think it. But when you make a deal with the devil, there's no telling how he'll screw you over to get what he wants.

Growing up, I idolized Rich Campion. Nothing much happened in a small town like Sanditon, so when a townie managed to make something of themselves, it was a huge deal. I admired the way he'd skipped out on college, relying on common sense and street smarts to tap into the real estate market. For years, I watched him buy out old buildings and struggling mom and pop shops, accumulating wealth as he transformed them into thriving enterprises branded with his name.

In the early days, he'd offered me a job with his company. Retrospectively, I should have taken it and worked my way up, family loyalties be damned, but I was greedy for what he had. I saw the potential for expanding Parker Properties, and naively craved the affluence that would come from delving into the lucrative world of property development.

My parents, however, weren't keen on the idea. Oh, I bellowed at them for weeks about profit margins and revamping the company, and _just-let-me-do-this-so-you-can-fucking-retire-in-peace_ , but they wouldn't budge. The more they dug their feet in, the more bitter I became about the company's future being dependent upon the consensus of siblings who had had zero interest in actually running the business. 

My first mistake was telling Campion about it. I thought he was my friend. I thought I could trust him. Blinded by greed, I couldn't see how wrong I was. All I remember is being consumed with anger toward everyone who stood in the way of me proving my worth. At twenty three, I thought I had it all - great apartment, nice car, hot fiancée - and felt like I was owed a chance at success on my own terms.

What a goddamn fool I was.

When Rich came through with the offer a little over twelve years ago, I thought all my problems were solved. He'd buy in, providing the capital for us to purchase and redevelop our first property, taking fifty percent of the earnings when it sold. If the project succeeded, it would be the beginning of a partnership that would blow our earnings out of the water, even with Rich taking half the cut.

My dad exploded with rage afterward, objecting the partnership outright. My mom tried to calm him down, but we were both spitting fire. To say it was horrible doesn't even begin to cut it. The fight we had is burned into my brain, playing on repeat now that I found myself on the brink of ruination.

_"We have to accept!" I felt a wide grin spread across my face, my mind already running through the figures. "This is exactly what we need to take Parker Properties to the next level!"_

_My excitement was met by deathly silence. Mom and Dad frowned, glaring at me as if I was completely foreign to them._

_"It's not going to happen son. We're not ever doing business with the likes of Rich Campion." My mom nodded her agreement, while I rebelled against his tone of finality._

_"What do you mean? We'd be stupid not to take him up! We have so much potential--_

_"Yes, we do!," my dad interjected heatedly, "But we're not selling our souls to realize it. You have some great ideas, Tom, you really do, and your mom and I understand that if you take over some day you might want to reevaluate our business model..."_

_"If I take over? IF???" What the actual fuck?_

_"Yes-- if. Diana, Sidney or even Arthur might want to play a larger role as they get older. The point is, expanding our business and improving on its success will be the result of hard work and dedication!"_

_"Oh please, dad, we both know I'm the only one who has the vision to continue this business once you retire, or die, or whatever the fuck you intend on doing!"_

_I'll never forget the way the blood drained from his face, and mom's too, at my vicious words. I felt immediately sorry for being so heartless, but swallowed my apology out of pure spite._

_"Be that as it may, I'm still alive now." His words were pained, tinged with sadness."Men like Campion are self-serving. What do you think he'll do if we fail at this scheme? He'd swoop in and buy us out below market without even a backward glance."_

_I shook my head in disbelief. "You don't know him. He'd never do that."_

_"I'm sorry, Tom. Our final answer is no."_

_"I hate you," I hissed angrily, not knowing those would be the last words we spoke. "I hate you both."_

_I stormed out of their house and straight into Rich Campion's office._ _"Don't worry," he said, smiling genially, "leave your parents to me. I can be very persuasive."_

Five days later, I got the call. There'd been a horrific accident. My parents were dead and my brother was in critical condition.

In one heartstopping moment, life as I knew it ended. There was no time for goodbyes, no opportunities to make amends. I've been existing in a shroud of guilt ever since, repeating the same mistake over and over and over again, as if glutton for punishment. In the weeks that followed, I only half listened to inconclusive reports hinting at malfunctioning brakes and other car troubles.

I didn't need hard proof to know who was to blame. Rich Campion triggered the accident, and I unwittingly orchestrated the entire thing.

* * *

A cold hand shakes me awake. Weak light streams through the window, and I hear birds chirping like the world isn't fucking falling apart. _When did I fall asleep?_ Shifting uncomfortably in the armchair, I crack open my eyes to see Mary looming over me.

"Wake up," she says, jostling my shoulder again. "Quickly!"

"Jeez, Mary, what time is it? Can't be seven o'clock yet..." I reach into my pocket to check my phone, cringing when I see thirteen missed calls from Sidney, and another four from Rich.

"If you're thinking about all the ways you can avoid me, I've come to save you the trouble." Sidney walks into my office, followed by Arthur, the two of them making the room feel incredibly small. 

"Did you do this?" I turn to Mary, unable to keep the accusation from bleeding into my voice. "Did you tell them to come? Because I would have called Sidney back."

Her face crumples, but it's Arthur who steps forward to offer her comfort, while Sidney shakes his head at me in disgust.

"For fuck's sake, Tom, can you even hear yourself speak? Mary didn't tell us to come." He reached out to squeeze her hand before turning back to frown in my direction. "And if I ever hear you talk to her like that again I'll punch your stupid face. Again."

My hand reflexively covers my bruised nose. I swallow the lump in my throat, finally scaring up the courage to meet his eyes. _The brother who almost died because of me. The brother who dropped everything to bail me out when no one else would_. I've repaid him with nothing but lies.

"Why are you here then?"

"You owe us answers." He scoffs indignantly, glancing at Arthur. "And we're not leaving until we get them."


	41. SIDNEY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidney + Tom + Arthur + half truths and maybe punches and sexy phone calls.
> 
> What more could you possibly need?  
> We hope you enjoy this chapter, as always! Let us know what you think!

(SIDNEY)

_Maybe, in the end, we have to learn to rescue ourselves. Maybe that's what real love is all about._

Tom made to rise, and then slumped back down in his chair, thoroughly defeated by the small effort it took to hold himself up. The air around him smelled stale, and I recoiled a bit thinking that, by the looks of him, it had probably been days since his last shower. Sweat plastered his pale brow, matting his hair into clumps, and pooling in the deep creases of his forehead as he fingered a smudged glass of tepid amber liquid in a deliberate attempt to avoid my gaze.  
  
I clenched my jaw reflexively, and felt my fists ball up to the point of pain trying to resist the temptation to bleed the secrets out of him. I imagined they'd clatter out of him like loose change, incredibly loud and impossible to count. Tom was slowly crumbling under a web of lies, his soul warped with delusions of grandeur until there was nothing left but an empty shell. I flipped back through my memory, past our adult struggles, past our childhood trauma, startled that I couldn't remember him beyond the present.

Something shifted inside me at the sad sight of him, and I realized that it was grief over the person he'd become while I was busy looking the other way. Whoever this man was, I didn't recognize him as my brother.  
  
"Go home, Sidney," he deadpanned, taking a sip of his drink and wincing it down. "I have nothing to say to you."

"I beg to differ," I countered tiredly. "I think you and I have a lot to talk about." I glanced over my shoulder to where Mary stood huddled against Arthur's chest. "Why don't you let Arthur take you downstairs? I'm sure you're exhausted from dealing with this fool."  
  
Hell, I'm exhausted and I haven't been in the room more than five minutes. I catch Tom in my periphery, his young face lined prematurely with a worried expression that mirrors his wife's. You didn't need to be God to know that they've been fighting, about what I can't say for certain, but my gut instinct tells me that it's not good. Mary opened and closed her mouth several times in quick succession, but then appeared to think better of protesting. The fight went out of her, and she leaned against Arthur, allowing him to lead her from the room.

"I'll be back in a few, yeah?," Arthur said, his normally jovial face devoid of humour. "Don't have too much fun without me."

My mouth forms a grim line, and I nod in his direction before turning back to Tom.

"Why are you still here, Sidney? You're wasting your time with me."

I sniffed loudly, refusing to take the bait. "What are you and Mary fighting about?," I ask, genuinely worried.

"None of your goddamn business," he retorts hotly, his eyes spitting fire. I consider making a sardonic remark, but the last thing I need is for him to shut down completely.

"Whoa-- take it easy, desperado. I only ask because it sucks to see Mary hurting because you can't pull your head out of you ass long enough to see that she wants to help you. We all do."

 _Well, there go my chances of getting answers, I think. Couldn't keep my sarcasm in check for two seconds_. I figure I might as well be upfront while I'm at it. "And also, the last time time checked, my name was still on the deed to this house. And Arthur's, and Diana's. You live here because we let you. Don't mistake charity for privilege."

His nails dig into the soft leather of the chair, and from the way his eye twitches, I can tell that I've hit a nerve.

"Are you saying that I haven't worked hard for this lifestyle?," he snarls through clenched teeth.

"No," I reply. "No, I know you have. But it strikes me as funny that you had it all handed to you, and yet still managed to fuck up at every turn."

"You want to help, Sidney? Where was your help all the years I was drowning in debt trying to keep this company going, huh? Where was your help then?" His face burns red, and I feel my own anger rising at his misguided accusation. "If you really want to help, go home, and leave me the fuck alone. I can take care of my own problems."

"I don't get it, Tom...," My throat is tight and my voice hurts. "What could be so bad? Is it you and Mary? The business? Is it something else entirely? We might not get along most days, but you can tell me and I'll try..." _to help you. Like I did two years ago even though it cost me almost everything._

The rest of the sentence is drowned in the overwhelming fear that whatever mess he's gotten himself into this time far outweighs my ability to put it right. As I wait in vain for Tom to break his silence and come clean, I lean back against the polished oak built-ins, running my fingers along the spotless surface. The shelves are lined with pointless objects. Decorative boxes. An arrow shaped paperweight that probably could double as a murder weapon. Pretty books with pretty titles, the kind that no one reads, and pictures...so many pictures of us, from the time before we all broke into a thousand pieces.  
  
My breath hitches and my heart falters achingly, but my hand freezes mid-reach when the door creaks open behind us, followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps.

"Sorry to interrupt this little heart to heart, pity party, kumbaya crap," says Arthur disparagingly," but what the hell, Sid? You two are seriously hopeless. I've been eavesdropping for the last five minutes and you haven't asked this dumbass a single think you came to ask him!"

Pictures momentarily forgotten, my mourth quirks up in reluctant smile at Arthur's perplexed expression. I don't know what makes me happier, the fact that he was sneaking, or the idea that he's angry on my behalf. His serene face clouds over with disappointment as he closes in on Tom, leaning down to search his eyes.

"I don’t really care about your latest disaster. The way I see it, you deserve whats coming if you were stupid enough to gamble with your good fortune."

My brows shoot so far up they almost touch my hairline. I can't believe that this is the same guy who's always trying to get me to see the bright side. I honestly didn't know he had it in him to be so...ruthless.

"Jeez, Arthur, go easy on the man. He looks like he's about to faint."

" _No Sidney_ \-- for once, he needs to hear the truth. Mary is downstairs sobbing her eyes out because he won't speak to her. The kids are tiptoeing around him, wondering when they're going to get their dad back and why their mom is so flipping sad. Jenny just hugged me an asked me not to leave because all the arguing has her scared. He has everything worth anything, and he's wasting it-- and for what??" His nostrils flare in barely suppressed fury, before rising to look stubbornly between Tom and myself. "We can't help him if he doesn't want to be helped."

Tom's red rimmed eyes squeeze shut at Arthurs scathing report. He runs a trembling hand through his sweaty hair and shifts uncomfortably in his seat, still resolutely avoiding eye contact.

"Arthur's right, Tom," I say gently, urging him to blink, to breathe, to do something that acknowledges his understanding of what I'm about to say. "I get it if you're too scared to speak the truth about yourself, but I'm done living a half life. For the first time since the accident, I'm really fucking happy...and it's all Charlotte's fault." Just the thought of her makes me grin like a fool in love. "I need to know why you burned her letter. Because I've replayed it over and over in my mind, and it just doesn't make a scrap of sense."

The room hums with electricity, the air charged with weighty silence. I shift my weight from one leg to the other, slowly losing hope that Tom will relent enough to offer an explanation.

"Earth to dumbass!," Arthur calls, waving his hands at Tom. "You gonna say anything, or have you gone mute?"

"You gonna stop calling me dumbass?," Tom asks impatiently.

" _Hallelujah_! He speaks! And no, probably not. At least not until you hand over your PhD in dumbassery to some other unsuspecting moron."

When I snort, Tom's gaze locks with mine, and he deflates a little before drawing himself up to sit straighter.

"To be honest, Sidney, I thought I was doing you a favour." His voice is papery thin, making my blood run cold. "You two spent the whole trip angry with one another. You didn't think I noticed, did you? I thought it was funny that you introduced her as your friend, when she so obviously expected more. You're better off without her and that stupid letter. You need someone who--"

"Don't you dare tell me what I need, or who to love!," I shout, as my fist collides with the solid surface of the bookcase. Tom blanches and I feel sickeningly satisfied at the fear that flickers across his face. "Do you know _why_ I labeled Charlotte as my friend? It's because I knew-- I just knew the moment I was within two feet of you, you'd bombard me about Eliza, who by the way, I don't give two fucks about! Do you know how horrible it is to love someone and not be able to tell my own brother about her? I don't owe you anything, least of all my one chance at happiness!"

Tom rises, bracing himself against the wall as he makes his way to the window. Looking out is easier than looking in at Arthur and myself, and the shambles of his life.

"Tom," says Arthur beseechingly, "why do you keep pushing for Sidney to be with literally the worst woman in existence? Clearly his heart lies elsewhere. Why can't you accept that?"

"Couldn't you have tried harder, Sidney?," asks Tom in hushed tones, almost as if he's speaking to himself. "Eliza would have solved everything. She is rich and beautiful and..."

"...heartless, and self-absorbed and everything that I hate rolled into a single person. No, Tom, I couldn't have tried harder. Whatever we were for a hot second was just a blip in time. It would never have worked."

He nods sadly as the finality of my words wash over him. Something that he said doesn't sit right with me, but Arthur figures it out while I'm still sifting though Tom's words.

"What did you mean when you said Eliza would have solved everything?," asks Arthur urgently. "Tom, what did you do?"

"I messed up," he replies simply, bowing his head in a pitiful imitation of prayer. My heart accelerates double time as the pieces fall into place, the reasoning behind all his half-assed attempts at matchmaking suddenly becoming startlingly clear.

"You made a deal with him didn't you? Rich Campion?" He grimaces, but doesn't refute my statement. "And as long as I was with Eliza, all debts were forgiven. But now that I've booted her from my life, he's after you for his money..."

The story comes out haltingly, holding Arthur and myself spellbound in its horrific details. With each word of truth, I felt nauseated by a sacrifice I'd made for nothing. My dream job, gone. Three hundred thousand hard earned dollars poured into an unnecessary home renovation while money was borrowed from Campion for business investments that flopped just as hard as my complicated and short-lived relationship with Eliza.  
  
I backed away, needing air, needing to focus on something other than wanting to punch Tom's face. Really, what I needed was Charlotte's voice to soothe me, her warm embrace assuring me that everything would be ok.

"I'm so sorry," offers Tom dejectedly, his eyes imploring me for salvation that isn't within me to give. Arthur's angry form shoots past me in a blur.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, dumbass!," he hisses right before I hear the unmistakable crack of bone on bone.  
  
Tom doubles over, falling to his knees whilst cupping his already bruised nose. The impact was hard enough to break open the jagged lines of broken skin, and I detect a thin line of blood leaking though his fingers.

"Fuck you, Arthur!," he whispers forcefully through his fingers.

"Fuck you too, Tom!," Arthur roars, "Fuck you very much."  
  
Then he's gone, storming past me through the door and out of sight, leaving me speechless in the wake of his unexpected rage.

* * *

  
The old me would have left Tom sniveling on the floor where he belonged. But the person I'd become after loving Charlotte could see his pain, and hurt deeply for him. He was searching in all the wrong places for success, when his greatest accomplishment would always be the one he'd created out of love - Mary and the kids. I guess that's why Arthur was so upset, because Tom had what we'd lost and was throwing it all away for nothing but material gain.  
  
That afternoon, I did the thing I least wanted to do. I picked my brother up off the gleaming hardwood floor and shouldered his weight as we walked to the washroom. Once inside, I blotted away the congealed blood, cleaning the old wound where it had reopened. I stuffed cotton wool up his nose to staunch the slow trickle of red, and taped the edges shut, hoping he would heal.  
  
He didn't fight me, and I didn't push him to reveal the full version of the half truth he'd offered. In fact, I didn't speak at all. Not because I had nothing to say, but because the little I knew was enough to fill me with a strange sense of peace.  
  
After checking in with Mary and the kids, Arthur and I decide to stay the night. Besides, Aunt Val called to say she'd stop by the next morning after her shift, and that alone was enough to make me stick around. She didn't mention Charlotte at all, but I can't help hoping that she's remembered something that could help the woman I love piece herself back together.  
  
The sun eventually goes down, spooling its light into shadow across each room of Sanditon House. In the old parts of the house I can swear that I hear fragments of our old souls, every version of the kids we once were peeking out of long forgotten hiding spots. A shiver snakes its way up my spine, and I shake away the unsettling feeling as I enter Tom's office, unsurprised to find it empty. I haven't seen him in hours.  
  
It's the photographs I came back for, so many of them lining the shelves like relics fron times past. _Memories_. _Reminders of who we used to be_. Until recently, I hadn't returned home, but until this very second, I lacked the courage to look at stills of us in picture form.  
  
My fingers traipsed across endless frames of baby pictures and birthday parties and family vacations, stopping on a dorky still of first grade me, complete with a bow tie, slicked back hair and missing from teeth. I grinned, remembering that day, and my mom’s stern warning to stay off the playground and out of the sand pit. The more I looked, the more my heart contracted with the fullness of having been loved.

"I forgot about the year I'd only wear Halloween costumes," says Arthur quietly, sidling up beside me. I didn't even hear him come in.

"Better than the year you'd only wear yellow," I laughed, pointing at five year old Arthur looking like he'd fallen into a bowl of sunshine.

"Hey, don't be a hater. My fashion sense was always superior to yours."

"Can't argue with that," I say, nudging his shoulder. "God, look at how young Tom and Mary were. I think that was their first date..."

Arthur doesn't answer. When I glance at him he's gripping a photo of the six of us taken maybe about twenty years ago. In it, we're all smiling widely, content, and unsuspecting of what was to come.

"We were really happy weren't we, once upon a time?"

"Yeah," I reply dazedly, my gaze fixed on the photo. "We really were."

"How bad is it?," asks Arthur, "with Tom, I mean. Is it...fixable?"

I sigh deeply, measuring my words, not sure if I'm ready to admit what needs to be sacrificed to salvage Tom from his own mess.

"It's...bad. Rich Campion isn't the type to just forgive a debt. I don't know the specifics, but I'm guessing Tom must have borrowed close to a million, if not more."

"Will...will the business survive?," he asks somewhat reluctantly.

"I really fucking hope so, but probably not. Even if we rubbed all our pennies together, it wouldn't be enough."

"Well, shit," breathes Arthur, flexing is fist as his mouth forms a grim line. "It's a good thing I punched him, then."

"You shouldn't have," I say reproachfully, though I'm secretly pretty damn proud of him.

"Yeah, maybe. But I'm glad I did."

* * *

  
Somewhere between asleep and awake, I dreamed a dream so vivid that it shook me to my core.

The nightmare returned that night, after weeks of being free of the terror that usually gripped me in the dark void of sleep. It ran through my mind like flickering scenes from a silent movie, while I screamed against the water gurgling in my lungs, stealing my breath. The harder I fought, the faster I drowned, falling though time until I collaped into a hospital bed, suspended by hooks and drips in a prison of my own making. The clinical hum grew louder and louder and louder until it threatened to split my head open with its dependable calmness.

 _\- Am I dead?_  
 _\- No. You've just forgotten how to be alive._  
 _\- Oh great. I really am dead._  
 _\- Not yet. Open your eyes_.

My eyes flew open then, locking into a warm brown gaze, younger than I remembered, but familiar just the same.

I woke in cold sweat, trembling with recollections that seemed far too real to be imagined. Perspiration dotted my forehead, and I took several deep, calming breath, reaching out for Charlotte only to find her spot beside me cold and empty. As time folded back into its rightful place, it came back to me. I was in Sanditon, and Charlotte was miles away, safe and sound in her bed.  
  
I ached for her in more ways than I could describe, craved her fingers in my hair and her lips on mine and her whisper in my ear. I needed the comfort only she could give, so I did the next best thing - I called her. I couldn't suppress my smile when she answered on the first ring, a breathy hello, like it was perfectly normal to be called at two in the morning by your boyfriend.

" _Sidney_." Her voice is tired, but not heavy with slumber. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine. Had a dream, and now I can't get back to sleep."

"Do you want to talk about it? I doubt I'm going to get much sleep tonight. The bed is cold and everything seems empty without you."

"When I woke up, I reached out for you. I guess I forgot where I was..." I briefly consider telling her about the dream, and Tom and Aunt Val, but Charlotte is the last person who can give me the answers I need. "I don't want to talk about it yet. The only thing I want right now is to lose myself in your voice. Today was a goddamned nightmare."

"I expect a full report when you get back. I don't envy you being there." I chuckle lightly, running a hand over my stubble.

"Yes ma'am," I reply, clutching the phone closer to my ear. "I miss you Charlotte. I want to be where you are." _Anywhere but here_. I hear her breath hitch through the phone, and my heart quickens in response.

"And what else?," she asks seductively.

"And I need you..." _right now_.

"And what else?"

"And I want you..." _so fucking badly_.

"And what else, Sidney?"

"And I love you, Charlotte. You know that."

"Hmmm," she replies, playing coy. "And hypothetically speaking, what would you do to me if I was with you right now?"

I groan into my pillow, struggling to control my raging hard on. She has no idea what she does to me.

"Why don't you tell me what you'd do to me if I was there with _you_?," I ask, fully expecting her to back down. But she doesn't hesitate, not even for a second, speaking low and slow in a voice that brings me to the edge of desire.

"Why, Sidney-- I'd fuck you nine ways to Sunday. And maybe, if you're lucky, I'd let you make love to me nice and slow after until my name falls off your tongue like a prayer. Until you can't remember where I end and you begin." 

I swallow hard, squeezing my eyes shut, cursing the distance between us. "Dear God, Charlotte," I whisper, "you're going to be the death of me."

Her laughter sends my blood racing. I can imagine her now, bare-faced and beautiful, wearing nothing but her underwear as she tilts her head to reveal a dazzling smile. What wouldn't I give to be with her right now? To do nothing more than touch her, holding her close just because? As the minutes tick by, my eyes begin to droop and my body grows still. Vaguely, I hear an " _I love you"_ amidst the banter, but I'm already falling asleep to the gentle cascade of her voice in my ear.  
  
  
  
  



	42. CHARLOTTE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU WANT ANSWERS? COME AND GET 'EM.

(CHARLOTTE)

I spend most of the night speaking with Sidney, sweet words of tenderness and needy sighs of desire. However, in the early hours, defeated by the brutality of the day, he finally decides to tell me about his dream. He is half asleep when he recounts it, so I am inclined to question what he says. He alludes to seeing me in it. Why would I be in the hospital after his accident?

_“You were next to my hospital bed… your brown eyes, Char, pulling me from the abyss.”_

I toss and turn the rest of the night, playing this line in my head over and over again. Our connection has been an inexplicable mystery; something that defies reason, logic and common sense. The magnetic pull we feel towards each other also defies physics and science. So, how are we connected? 

I drag myself to the kitchen to make some coffee, when I realize that James stayed over for the night. He has been spending more time at his place lately, and I had forgotten that I need to tiptoe around my apartment when he is here. James cherishes his sleep more than anyone I know. He can be such a little princess. Gosh, I'm starting to sound like Esther! His deep breathing tells me that he is in the dreamy lands of people who don’t suffer from nightmares and insomnia. 

I prepare my coffee and pour it into my favorite mug, clasping onto the warm porcelain and inhaling the aromatic smell of dark roast. I sit in my room, next to the night light, jotting down discombobulated thoughts in my journal. The gallery owner’s blue eyes appear in front of me, stripping up my internal peace with a dreadful feeling of unrest. He knows something important about my mom. 

_“…you do look just like her.”_

Those could only be the words of someone who knows my mom really well. I frown, massaging my forehead. I feel a throbbing headache developing from lack of sleep. These past few days have put all of my relationships to the test. There is only one I have spared thus far. But, it's finally time, and I am resolved to confront James as soon as he wakes up. I gulp a large sip of coffee. It burns my throat and reaches my veins, with a strong kick of energy. 

James sleeps so peacefully, his handsome features enriched by the rejuvenating whisper of the sound slumber. We don’t look alike, even though we share a father. Is it that he looks too much like his mom and I am practically my mom’s twin? My dad’s genes must not be too prevalent, and I am grateful for that. His hypothetical existence miles away from me makes me feel uneasy, like there are thousands of words unspoken, clogging the air we need for breathing.

When Esther and I walked into the gallery in Sanditon, I felt this vibration in the air, like it was charged by hidden powers, calling me to follow the man in the water. I’ve dreamt of touching water before. There are just too many haunting references of water in my life… Perhaps the only person privy to all my secrets is my dad. Perhaps it's time for me to face him… 

“I know that face. You're debating something important.” James’ voice startles me. He stands at the threshold towards my bedroom, jeans on, no shirt, nonchalant, his curls falling across his forehead. “Tough night?”

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep… Sidney called.” His expression intensifies just with the mention of Sid, and that bothers me. “You don’t seem to like him at all. Why?”

James moves into my bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed. He nervously shuffles into place, turning around to face me, clearing his throat, and motioning for me to come next to him. 

“Come here, Char, there is something I've been meaning to tell you… I just couldn’t find the right time.”

“James, one can never find the right time for difficult conversations.” I look at him expectantly, secretly hoping that he will finally tell me where my mom is. I quickly forget about the question that is still hanging in the silence between us. I can ask him about his antipathy towards Sidney later. Now, I am ready to unravel my past. “I went looking for mom.”

The shadow of panic runs through his eyes, as he grabs my arm, moving closer to me.

“What do you mean?”

“I found a gallery that was exhibiting her work, so I asked Esther to accompany me…”

“Which gallery?”

“A gallery in Sanditon.”

He gasps, shaking his head. 

“Char, you need to stop looking for her! Why didn’t you tell me that this is what you planned to do?”

I pull my arm away from him, jumping up, anger rising in my blood. 

“Because I knew that you would try to stop me! What are you hiding, James?! I'm ready to face whatever truth you've been concealing from me!” I stand in front of him, threatening, hands on my hips, my eyes digging holes onto his pale face. 

“Because you won't be able to find her…” He mutters quietly, defeated by my anger and what seems like a lifetime of half-told truths. 

I slump on the bed, next to him, frustrated.

“I could if you offered to help me!”

“Char…” He gently takes my face into his hands and turns it towards him. “You will never find her because your mom is not in hiding. She never was. Dad wanted to keep the pretense; to lie to you about her leaving… It’s been many years now since she… passed.”

I feel a cold, stabbing pain in my chest. Darkness overtakes my soul, spreading mournful tingles down my spine, as I convulse in pain, pushing James away. A high pitched cry forms deep down. When I release it, it shatters the flimsy lamp on the nightstand.

“ _No!!!”_ The echo makes its rounds in the apartment, coming back more powerful and somber.

James leaps towards me, grabbing my shoulders, to pull me close, in an attempt to hug me, as I punch angry fists into his chest.

“You are lying! I don’t believe you!” A stream of tears blurs my vision. The fragile castle of hopes I had built collapses with raucous rumbling. 

He struggles to contain my fury, my despair, my recklessness. I am hitting him hard at first, my knuckles throbbing from the pain. He takes it without a single complaint, even though I can see that I am hurting him. 

“Why, James? Why did you not tell me sooner?” He allowed me to nurture hope. He let me imagine myself next to her again.

“I told you the night you had your accident. You were so angry with me… I couldn’t imagine telling you again because… I didn’t want you to go through the same pain…”

“No! You were afraid to lose my trust! This is why you didn’t tell me. You knew that I would see right through you. Years of betrayal! You allowed me to punish myself for years, thinking that I was the reason she left!” All the exasperation that has remained neatly contained within me pours out hastily. “All those years you allowed _him_ to torture me with the realization that my mom didn't even think twice about leaving me with a violent father.”

“Char, uh I…” Overcome by my accusations, James’ face contracts into a painful grimace. “I did my best to protect you.” 

“You lied to me every day of my life, James!” My words are cruel, but what he did was weak and cowardly, and I will not forgive him. 

“I am…sorry, Char. At first, I believed dad when he insisted that you were too sensitive, that you couldn't handle the truth… Then, when I realized just how strong you truly are, it was too late… I was afraid, petrified really, at the thought of losing you.”

He retreats, becoming small and brittle. The man, under whose shadow I lived most of my life, disappears. And I see the boy I don’t remember. There is terror in his eye, and heartache, and hopelessness.

“How did she… die?” I whisper, voice trembling and feeble. 

“A car accident. She had a fight with dad that night. I came to check on you in your room because you couldn’t sleep when they were yelling, but you were fast asleep. I heard her car speed away from our driveway in the early hours of the night… We received a call at five in the morning.”

I gasp. I finally understand my nightmares and why I wake up at five every morning. 

“Tell me everything you know.” I command without rising my voice. The heaviness of sorrow is pulling me down like a gravitational force. My eyes are stinging from the salty drops that continue to trickle. The lack of sleep sharpens the agony of the emotions and makes them threefold. 

“She must have been driving near Sanditon…” My heart drops at the mention of Sanditon, and a vicious thought advances ominously in my mind. Before James even finishes the sentence, I _know_. “She was in the same accident that killed Sidney’s parents.”

This is how a life breaks. Just minutes ago, I held the possibility of finding my mom, a loyal brother to go to for help, and the love of my life to look forward to. Now, I'm terrified to ask any follow up questions because I dread the reply. James, oblivious to my doubts, continues.

“Char, they believed that it was your mom who caused the accident. This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I was afraid it would break you and Sidney apart.”

“Did her car end up in the water too?” I gulp the enormous nod in my throat. All this water in my dreams. My subconscious has been trying to give me clues.

“Yes.” James observes me closely. 

“So, you and dad had me miss her funeral?” I am shaking, hands trembling. As he tries to comfort me, I pull away, hugging my knees. 

“No, Char, no! Dad still has her ashes… We were both hoping to spread them over the warm waters of the sea in Lloret de Mar one day…when you're ready. We only had a private service.”

“I can't forgive you for letting me miss it!”

“Char, you were young! It would have crushed you.”

“ _How do you know?_ You said I was stronger than you ever imagined.”

“Yes, but I didn't know that at the time. I, erm, I imagined you would suffer the way I did… when my mom left me.” Tears are now streaming down his face. This comes as a slap in the face. I have been so enthralled in my own pain that I completely disregarded his. I am still so angry with him, but I can’t help but feel an overwhelming feeling of sisterly love. So, I hug him, and we both cry together for what feels like an eternity. 

“I have to tell Sidney.” I break away from our hug. We are both out of tears, out of words, feeling numb. 

I grab my keys and shove them into my purse. I'm disoriented, but I pour the remaining few sips of dark coffee in my mouth. It’s cold and bitter. I head in the direction of the door.

“Char! Before you go, I need to tell you something else.”

I turn slowly on my heels. I guess I was wrong. This could get worse.

“Sidney and I were in the same school when we lived in Sanditon. Briefly. I knew he was in the accident with your mom, so I went to see him in the hospital when he was in a coma…” I forget to breathe as he continues to speak. “You came with me. I told you that he was a classmate who'd just been in a car accident… Do you remember any of this?”

I search for a surface to hold on to, as my head is spinning, and I feel dizzy. Sidney said I was in his dream, next to his hospital bed. I must have been the girl in his dream…

“No. But he's been dreaming about it.” I stand up again, holding on to the chair.

* * *

As soon as I am in my car, I open my phone and text Sidney. 

_“Are you still in Sanditon?”_

_“Yes. I will stay another night. I want to see my aunt. Everything alright, my love?”_

_“I love you.”_

I hope he will not forget just how much I love him. When I tell him about the accident, it will hurt. But… I plan to remain by his side, holding his hand, brushing away his tears, kissing him softly and whispering the only thing I know for sure: “ _We can do this together, Sidney.”_

The drive to Sanditon is a daze. My mind recalls every word, every detail, of James’ confession. I recollect every dream, and it's starting to make sense. I guess I should have known. 

I park the car on the driveway in front of Sanditon House. My feet are shaking when I walk out. I stop to steady my pulse, adrenaline rushing through every vein. I am scared, exhausted, and unbearably sad. I ring the bell. Just a few seconds later, Arthur opens the door with a wide grin. His face collapses at the sight of me, like he's just seen a ghost. 

“Char! What’s going on? Why are you here? Is something the matter??”

“I need to see Sidney. Is he here?”

Arthur nods, as he leads me into the parlor. His concern is obvious, and I wish I could share with him the reason why I am here, but I only have the strength to tell one person. 

I hear Sidney’s rushed steps before I see his anxious face. 

“Char, what's going on?” I stand up to face him, but I nearly faint, the enormity of all this taking over. He sits me right back on the chair, kneeling next to me, stroking my hair, and placing gentle kisses on my forehead. 

“God, Char, you are scaring me!” I take his hand and kiss it, the warmth of his skin bringing me calmness. 

“I have to tell you something, Sidney, but I need you to listen to everything I have to say before you ask any questions.” He nods emphatically. 

“I spoke with James today. He finally had the courage to tell me that my mom didn’t leave me.” There is shock in his eyes and he squeezes my hand. I clear my throat and force my words out fast and dull. “The thing is, Sidney, she died in a car accident. The same accident that killed your parents, and nearly killed you. And… and… and they think it was her fault.” I'm panting for air, choking on my tears. 

He eases the solid grip of my hand, horror in his eyes. He stands up quickly and starts to retreat. I make a Herculean effort to stand up and follow him.

“Sidney, please say something,” I implore desperately. 


	43. SIDNEY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte has just dropped a huge bombshell. How will Sidney respond? 
> 
> Fight or flight?
> 
> Also, we want to thank everyone who reads our story. Your support means everything. Your comments are the bright spot in our day. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

(SIDNEY)

 _"Run mad as often as you choose, but do not faint."_ _-Jane Austen_

If you asked me now, I'd swear that my legs moved of their own accord, plotting a quick retreat as my brain struggled to keep up with the punches. I'd tell you that I couldn't remember the details, that it wasn't the intersection of our past and present selves across time and space that stole my breath and made me weak in the knees. 

I'd tell you I was ok, but I wasn't. I'd say it was no big deal, but of course, that would be a lie.

There are certain events in a person's life that feel like turning points, even as they unfold. As I watched the truth spill out of Charlotte, whispered in hushed tones like a dirty little secret, I knew with deafening clarity that this was one of those times. Her words collapsed every dream I'd ever had about the accident into a single point of convergence. Blood pumped hard in my veins, heating my fingertips, burning my ears with its loud rush, screaming at me to make a choice that would determine the course of who I wanted to be for this woman. 

Charlotte's mother and my parents died in the same accident. _They died in the same accident_. How messed up was that? Her words sucker punched my heart. The truth was unexpectedly earth-shattering, as such things often are when they creep out of the woodwork to slap you in the face. Now, all I could think about was that they'd died together, ravaged by fire and water, almost taking me with them.

I blinked. Then I blinked again, rising so fast I that almost keeled over, backing away from the enormity of a shared trauma that could change everything if we let it. Not a moment before, I was sure nothing could separate us. I was absolutely certain that I was ready to carry the weight of her burden, her loss, but that was before her past was my past, before my well-concealed grief was implicated in the process. _Why did it have to be this_ , I thought _, why not anything else?_

My lips formed the familiar shape of her name, but my mouth felt chalky and dry. I stared at her, transfixed by her chaotic stillness. 

"Charlotte," I rasped, except my mouth malfunctioned and no sound came out. I tried again, but my voice doesn’t touch the air, doesn't reach across the divide.

Charlotte's heaving form stepped towards me, reaching out as I took a step back. She stepped toward me once more, but again I backed away. I wondered if she'd judge me for panicking, if she'd hate me for being shocked, scared, human. I wondered why I was repelling her when I knew none of this is her fault, or mine, when the only thing I wanted was to crash land in her arms.

She mouthed my name, but her face blurred into the background, as did Arthur’s, where he stood stock still at the room's edge. I'm sure he's reeling too, just as shocked as I was by Charlotte's revelation.

Her warm touch skated down my left arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake, making me feel too big for my body. I shuddered slightly, wanting nothing more than to step out of my skin and away from the accident that continued to haunt us both.

"Sidney, please say something," she pleaded, gripping my elbow sharply with her fingernails.

I didn't want to meet her gaze, and yet, I felt brave when I did. I didn't want to see the tears in her eyes, the watery fear reflected in them, daring me to run while also challenging me to prove her wrong. I raised my hands in front of me like a shield, missing the warmth of her touch when it fell away.

"Stop." I shut my eyes, gasped for air, shrink wrapped my heart. In that order. "Just. Stop." 

Charlotte bit her lip and stepped back as if I'd struck her, her cheeks blushing hot and red. I needed her to know that I wasn't angry with her, only at Fate for being such a collosal bitch, for staging the most elaborate practical joke at our expense. If I wasn't hurting so much for us both, I'd be laughing. 

I couldn't change the past, not hers or mine. I couldn't alter our story before this point in time. I think that, maybe, if we found a way to shoulder it together, it wouldn't be so bad. I wanted to tell her that I loved her, only her. I wanted to say that the enormity of _this_ was smaller than the sum of us, that we were better together than apart, but I couldn't articulate the thought well enough to arrange my letters into words that spelled out my feelings.

In the long seconds of silence, Charlotte's eyes dimmed and she retreated, just a little, half a step maybe, the tiny movement enough to make me feel like I was losing her. _Losing us._

So I bolted. 

Not in the forever kind of way, but fast enough to be mistaken for it. Turning, I fumbled with the screen door, yanking it open and catapulting myself onto the sprawling back lawn. A brisk sea breeze assaulted my senses, sending a shiver up my spine. Air burned in my lungs on the way down. The thin t-shirt I wore was flimsy shield from the late November chill, but I barely even noticed _. Oh hell, who was I kidding?_ I was fucking freezing, just too crazed to care. I ran hard and fast, crunching stiff grass under my socks, all the way down to the low dock, where I slid down to my knees by the waters edge. 

Maybe I heard footsteps close behind me along with the sharp staccato of my name, or maybe it was only my mind playing tricks, mistaking my thudding heart for something- _\- or someone_ \-- else. Every second of the way, my heart faltered, urging me to stop, turn around, go back. But I didn't, all the while wondering if this would be our defining moment as a couple, whether it would end us or by some grace, bring us closer. 

I shut my eyes tightly and exhaled a smoky puff of air. The dock behind me creaked with old age, but I didn't look back. I didn't need to because the answer was staring up at me from the glassy water.

 _This is it_ , I thought, the inevitable collision of dream and reality, because isn't this exactly how it had always been in the lucid ramblings of my mind between waking and sleep? Charlotte's face peered over my shoulder to look at my reflection. Her hand softly grazed my shoulder from behind, while a stray tear splashed onto my neck.

"Sidney, please don't let go," she whispered fiercely, her lips moving along the water's surface. "I know it's hard, but I'm asking you to stay. To fight. To...try. I need you, can't you see that? I don't want to know who I am without you."

Still, I didn’t react. Not to her plea, to her touch, or the salty evidence of her sadness against my skin. I was too transfixed by the surreal reenactment of my dream slash nightmare in real time.

My hand hit the cold surface, blindly dipping down to disturb calm waters, absorbing its secrets into my veins. The ripple effect distorted our image, almost erasing our faces. This was my turning point, the moment my soul touched water and came into itself. 

It had always been her voice calling me back to life. For the first time, I looked past my pain to see the rawness of Charlotte's, choosing her, and the life we would build over and over and over again. 

Heavy footsteps hit the wooden path just as I managed to lift myself up. They could only belong to once person, or rather, only one person was invested enough in the details of my life to to take personal offense to my behaviour.

"Oi, dumbass!" Arthur frantically waved me down as if he wasn't standing right there in front of me. Then he doubled over, heaving. "I will... personally kill you...if--- hold up, lemme catch my breath..."

My mouth quirks up into a half smile as both Char and I wait for him to continue. He takes a few deep, steadying breaths while skewering me with a menacing glare.

"As I was saying, I will personally take pleasure in killing you if you walk away from Charlotte again. Probably after I eat something because I'm kind of emotional right now, but I _will_ kill you. I mean, what the actual fuck was that, Sid?"

"For once in your life, Arthur Parker, please shut up and go away." I reached out to thread my fingers with Charlotte's. "I was...shocked, that's all. But I'm not going anywhere. Not now, not ever."

"You're not?," Charlotte asks disbelievingly, her eyes shining with fresh tears.

"You can't get rid of me that easily, you know. Unless you want to take up Arthur on his very generous offer to end me."

"I'll take a raincheck...for now," she replied mischievously.

"What a goddamn pity," Arthur retorted, shaking his head disdainfully as he whipped a pebble at the water. "Maybe if he fell into the lake he'd catch some sense and save me the trouble of smacking it into him every two seconds."

We smiled at each other then, stepping closer, like we should have done at the start. Charlotte's hands roved my chest, slipping under my arms to circle my back. I pulled her close, sliding my fingers up her neck to cup her face, tilting it upward to brush my lips gently against hers.

"Hey, I'm sorry you lost your mom," I whispered in her ear. "And I'm sorry that I made you think that I would choose anything but _this_ with you."

"I knew it would be hard for you to accept, because it was hard for me to hear. I never told you this, but I was looking for her-- my mom." She exhaled, hugging me closer, burying her face in my chest. "Up until today...I thought I would find her somewhere out there. _Alive_. Waiting for me. And you know what the worst part is? Even though I know she's gone, my mind can't remember her name, or her face, or if she even loved me."

She sobbed silently. Twelve years of delayed tears soaked into my shirt, wetting the skin underneath. I cradled her in my arms, this woman I loved, holding us together until she breathed easy again.

"Babe, of course your mom loved you." I stroked hair, hurting for her. 

"But I don't feel it like I feel your love. Deep down, I'm not sure."

My heart contracts when she speaks, hating her uncertainty over something as basic as a parent's love.

"You didn't have to tell me, you know. I was ok with not knowing the whole truth."

"I don't want there to be secrets between us, Sidney," she said simply, capturing my lips, pulling me to her with an urgency that made me forget where we were....

"Ughhhhh GET A ROOM!," Arthur yelled mockingly, covering his eyes. "You two are seriously gross! This is public space. It's supposed to be safe. Ain't no one wanna see you two suck face."

He stuck his hands in his pockets, and walked away, muttering under his breath. Anyone who didn't know him might have thought he was serious, but I heard the humour in his voice. Charlotte and I broke apart, our foreheads touching as we laughed at the absurdity of life's little ironies. 

Maybe the sad truth about happiness is that it was birthed from tragedy and shaped by pain. Maybe happiness was only ever what we made it. For us, anyway.

* * *

"Do we have to?," Charlotte asked, looking anxiously at the bed in my childhood room. We'd managed to avoid Tom for most of the day, and it was late now. We were both tired, but I could tell she didn't want to sleep at the house. Bad memories, and all. 

My eyes burned with exhaustion, and my limbs felt sluggishly heavy. I wrapped my arms around Charlotte's waist from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder and slipped my fingers under the hem of her shirt. 

"No, we don't have to stay here. We could go back home, or sleep in the car...or get a room at the shitty motel in town."

"I'm being silly, aren't I?"

"Who, you?" My eyes drooped slightly, and I planted a sleepy kiss on the curve of her neck. "Never."

"Yes, I am..." She sighed deeply, nestling into me. "And selfish, too. To bed with you, Mr. Parker. You're half asleep already."

I didn't have the energy to protest. I did nothing except collapse onto the bed, pulling Charlotte down with me. She shrieked loudly, forgetting her fears as she fell. 

"Whatever you say, _Mrs. Parker_. Whatever you say...."

Maybe I said it out loud, or maybe it was the stuff of dreams. All I knew was that when she snuggled into me, tracing her fingers along my scars to rest on my heart, it felt very, very real.

***

When I woke hours later, it was still dark. The way Charlotte's arms and legs were tangled with mine presented a problem, because I was parched. I tried to wet my mouth, but it wasn't enough to quench my thirst. I disentangled myself from Charlotte’s sleeping form, taking care not to wake her as I padded to the washroom to get some water.

When I returned a few moments later, she was sitting up in bed, her eyes wide with panic. "I thought you'd left me," she said quietly, like she was afraid voice her fears out loud.

"And I thought I promised you that I'd never leave? I just went to get some water. Want some?"

She shook her head, shuddering slightly. I wasn't immune to the fact that she'd lost a lot in one day, the truth of our parents' demise surfacing more questions than anything else.

I sat down beside her, leaning back against the headboard. Charlotte clambered on top of me, straddling my legs and burying her face in my chest. I inhaled her scent and hugged her close without pushing for more.

"Yesterday, Arthur found a picture of us. My whole family, before the accident." I don't know why I'm telling her this, but it feels like it's important. It's been on my mind ever since I saw it.

"He did? Was it...hard to look at?"

"Yes," I replied honestly. "...and no. It was us, once upon a time. Is it weird to say that I felt detached from the boy I was in that picture? It's like---" I paused, grasping for words.

"It's like you've lived more than one life," Charlotte says hazily. "Like you were shattered and remade a thousand times, and you're still playing catch up with all the people you've been."

"Yeah," I say, meeting her gaze. "Yeah. That's exactly it."

It seemed that there was nothing more we could possibly say to make the ache smaller, so we kissed instead. 

Her mouth dragged along my jaw up to my lips. Her teeth skated across my bottom lip, and a small hum of pleasure shot through me, pooling in the shadowy spaces between our bodies. Her tongue swirled with mine, pulling it into her mouth, hot and demanding, as her fingers lit fires across the hard planes of my chest. Her hips ground against me, and I gripped them, pushing back until I could feel her damp heat where I desired her most.

A low groan rose in my throat when her kisses were no longer enough. She raked her hands through my hair, as I reached back to unclasp her thin lace bra. I didn’t realize how empty my hands were until they cupped her full breasts, pressing a fevered kiss in the valley between them.

"Perfect," I whispered into her skin, before taking her nipple into my mouth and sucking gently.

She arched against me, slick with need, asking for more. Clothes were shed quickly. Charlotte guided my hands across the map of her body, between her legs and inside her, bringing them up to her hips before finally lacing them with hers.

We lost and found ourselves in each other countless times that night.

* * *

We didn't get a chance for slow hellos and languid kisses the morning after. Arthur's demanding knock threatened to bowl down the door before we were fully awake.

"I hope to God you're decent because I'm coming in!"

I rolled my eyes against his unwanted intrusion, while Charlotte giggled and pulled the covers up to her chin.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your annoying company?," I asked him once he was inside. His wary gaze slid from me to Charlotte and back to rest on me.

"I hereby renounce my role as your fairy godfather," he said emphatically. "I need you two to break up immediately." 

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"I had to sleep with fucking earplugs, Sid. EARPLUGS." He paused for dramatic effect. "And even that wasn't enough to block out the unholy sounds you two made last night." He shuddered at the memory, while I grinned like a fool. Beside me, Charlotte's cheeks burned hot against my chest.

"Oh my God," she moaned quietly, "I'm so embarrassed."

"You should be! I'm now scarred for life. I'll never be able to look at you the same way again."

"Jesus Christ, Arthur. Dramatic much?"  
We stare at each other until a smile breaks through his facade.

"I know, right?" He chuckled lightly, causing his curly hair to flop across his forehead. "I thought the fairy godfather bit was a stroke of genius."

"Any other reason you're in here right now, other than to shame us?," I ask, quirking up my brow.

Arthur looks dumbfounded for a second, as if he's just realized that one plus one equals two. 

"Yeah, actually. Aunt Val is downstairs. She wants to see you, but can't stay long so you better get your shit together quick."


	44. ARTHUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Secrets unfold in this chapter...and also a more in-depth look at who Arthur really is beneath his jolly exterior. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading, and once again, sorry for the wait! 
> 
> Drop a comment, we LOVE all your feedback!

(ARTHUR)

_Ignorance is bliss...or is it?_

Sidney and Charlotte were taking their sweet time coming downstairs. What I meant by that was that I heard the shower turn on, followed by a fair amount of thumping, and then...nothing but the steady spray of water. The walls were thick in this house, but the pipes didn't lie. They were old and carried sounds like echoes in the wind. I rolled my eyes so hard that they hurt. Trust Sidney to interpret " _hurry the fuck up_ ," to mean _"time for shower sex_ ," because there was no doubt in my mind that that's exactly what they were up to. _Gross_.

My eye twitched viciously as I fiddled with the blasted contraption that was supposed to produce coffee. Anyone looking at me would think I'd gone mad, a grown ass man pleading with the coffee maker from hell. The resounding verdict was that technology sucked. I whacked the machine a few times and pressed exactly thirty-four buttons before it whirred to life and did something other than sit uselessly on the counter. Work complete, I leaned my arms on the worktop, smiling deviously as I thought of all the ways I could make my brother and and his lady love squirm. 

I knew I gave them a hard time, but the honest to God truth is that I was relieved they were finally back together where they belonged. For a hot second, I seriously doubted that they would figure themselves out. Those two gave me massive heart palpitations with their stubborness. Next time they had the audacity to fight, I'd send them my hospital bill.

My mind stretched back to memories of Sidney before Charlotte, shuttered from the world with his nose always in a book, as if it offered him answers, or peace, filling up his empty spaces more than any one person could. On the rare occasions he'd leave the house for fun, (usually by force), women would look at him with heated lust, and he'd look right though them as though they didn't exist. They'd bend over backwards for his number while he'd pretend he couldn't read. The whole charade was hilarious, but mostly devastating because I knew he was coasting though life when there was so much in him to give. It always killed me just a little to watch him hurting with an unknowable pain, the kind that couldn't be touched, or tamed.

Until Charlotte. She'd swooped in, karate chopping his sorry ass back to life. _She was_ _his reason_. No, they needed each other, and I needed them. Because as long as they were happily in love, they'd never wonder how much my own well being was tied to theirs.

A loud bang and shuffle by the front entryway startled me out of my thoughts. Aunt Val was struggling through the door with a heavy cardboard box in her arms. I rushed over to help her, faltering under the weight of the unexpectedly heavy load.

"Holy crap, what is this stuff?," I huffed, dropping it onto the counter.

"The hospital was giving away spare body parts. I figured Tom could use a new brain..."

I barked out an unexpected laugh, and she joined me, her wispy brown hair flying in all directions. I thought about the last couple weeks, fairly confident Mary must have confided in Aunt Val for her to joke so accurately about Tom.

"You wouldn't be wrong," I said, still smirking gleefully. "That idiot could definitely use some tweaks in the common sense department...and a few others too."

"Do I wanna know?"

"No, probably not," I replied truthfully, flexing my sore knuckles. She sighed wearily. It was no secret that Tom has never really gotten along with the rest of us. Not for lack of trying. He just wasn't wired the same way...or at all.

"Sidney and Charlotte aren't down yet?" She looked around quizzically. "I went out to my car over twenty minutes ago. And took a phone call. And changed my scrubs before all that."

"Ahhh, well, I'm definitely sure you won't want an explanation for what's distracting them upstairs..."

"Say no more. When you're parents were dating your mom snuck your dad upstairs more times than I could count..." her eyes glassed over a little, and I could see the old memory flit across her face clear as day. "They thought they were so discreet, but they never could keep it down."

I felt my ears burning, blinking rapidly as I tried to digest the thought of my parents fooling around a million years ago. There are some things a kid should never think about his parents doing. I placed a firm hand on each of her shoulders.

"Aunt Val, believe me when I say that I did not EVER need to know that. I might actually barf."

She patted my cheek firmly, and went to pour herself some of the devil's coffee. "You'll survive, old chap."

"I probably won't."

"You will." She leaned against the kitchen counter, wincing at her first sip. After a few moments of silence, she asked me softly, "How are you, Arthur? Really, really? Not still trying to save the world are you?"

Something in me stilled at her question. The same one my mom used to ask. How long had it been since someone looked past the jokes, the humour, the deliberate nonchalance to actually ask me about myself? _Too long_ , a tiny voice replied. Way too long, and I wasn't exactly sure how to respond.

"You know me..." I half smiled, praying Sidney would materialize sometime this century to save me from delving too deep into my own personal trauma. "I'm good as long as the people I love are good. Sadly, I have two dumbass brothers who seem intent on sending me to an early grave, but other than that, same old me."

I chuckled nervously under my aunt's intent scrutiny, sure that that she knew I was deflecting the truth, certain that if she stared at me any longer I'd snap. I didn't like being on display. I'd learned long ago that I thrived best when I focused on other people's shit instead of my own. No one needed to know how close I'd come in the past few weeks to popping those almost expired antidepressants in my bottom drawer. 

I wasn't proud of that.

A soft creak behind us almost made me jump out of my skin. Aunt Val looked past me to where the staircase groaned under the strain of two sets of feet. A few seconds later, Sidney and Char ambled into sight, both glistening from their, ahem, shower. I breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. For all of his faults, Sidney really came in useful sometimes. Thank fuck.

* * *

Charlotte stepped off the stairs and tumbled straight into Aunt Val's open arms. The woman knew how to hug, I'd give her that. She folded Charlotte snugly into her "I meow you" cat scrubs, while Sid and I looked on, probably wondering the same thing...whether this was an echo of what this scene might have looked like with our mom, while dad hung awkwardly in the background waiting for his turn.

I shook off the nostalgia for something that would never exist. If my parents had lived, Sidney might never have met Charlotte. She might never have lost her memory. We'd all be completely different people, and that was a thought that, strangely, I couldn't bear to contemplate. I wasted no time changing course.

"The pipes were awfully loud this morning...," I whispered to Sid, nudging his shoulder. He didn't budge, or take the bait.

"Lots of rattling...and thumping..."

Still nothing. How disappointing.

"...and banging. Come to think about it, I think the pipes were moaning."

"Shut up before I make you shut up," he hissed through clenched teeth, his jaw growing taut.

"Some people forget that those pipes can't keep secrets--"

"And some people forget that I can punch their teeth out. You really embarrassed Charlotte this morning, you know."

I snorted incredulously. "Did I? The way I see it, if your nocturnal activities interrupt my REM cycle, I have a God-given right to make your life a living hell."

I was saved from Sidney’s potentially scathing rebuttal by Aunt Val's excited voice.

"It's her Sid." She smiled widely, holding Charlotte snugly in the crook of her arm. "Took me forever to figure out where I'd seen her before. Twelve years is a long time when you're a nurse...you see a lot of things you don't want to remember...of course, she was barely more than a girl back then, but it's her. You can't really forget a face like that."

Charlotte's face clouded over with confusion, her gaze boomeranging between the three of us. "I don't-- understand," she said haltingly. "What's your aunt talking about, Sidney?"

"Wait a minute." Understanding washed over me like a cold shower. "You didn't tell Charlotte that Aunt Val might possibly hold the key to her connection with you, and maybe the secret to her entire existence? For shame, Sidney Parker _, for shame_."

He at least had the good sense to look sheepish as he took Charlotte's hand, imploring her with a stupidly soft look.

"Jeez, Arthur, don't get your knickers in a knot." He gave me the finger with his eyes, which made me want to laugh because I knew I was getting under his skin. "Char, I didn't want to get your hopes up when Aunt V told me that you looked familiar after the memorial. After all, what if it turned out to be nothing? And we were in such a bad place after our fight that honestly, I forgot. I'm-- I'm sorry."

Charlotte smiled, leaning up to peck him on the cheek. "It's fine," she said meaningfully. "Why don't we all go into the kitchen to hear the full story? That way, we can talk and eat...I'm starving!"

Sidney’s heated glare warned me off teasing Charlotte. Damn, he knew too well. While we grabbed croissants and fruit from the platter in the fridge, my attention turned back to the ominous box I'd dragged in earlier.

"Hey, Aunt Val...you never did say what was in the box."

She took a seat at the island, stabbing a grape with her fork.

"Oh that. I guess they're mementos, of sorts. Stuff I couldn't bear to part with after the accident, especially when I didn't know if you'd make it." She glanced furtively at Sid as he eyed the box with newfound interest. "There are some newspaper clippings and police reports amongst other knick knacks. I think your old Varsity jacket is in there too, Sid. Given the circumstances, I thought you boys might like to have it back, to look through whenever you're ready."

Sidney nodded slowly, digesting her words the way one swallows medicine. His skin was notably paler and he couldn't seem to rip his eyes away from the storage cube, as if he was scared it might barf up the past without warning. I wanted to ask him if he was ok, but Charlotte was already urging Aunt Val to continue with her story.

"Can you please tell me what you remember, Aunt Val? I...can't seem to recall anything much beyond the past few months." Sid reached out to squeeze her hand supportively, and she squeezed back, refusing to let go. 

"Lets see," she began, "...you didn't come on the first day, or the second. I think it was almost a week after the accident that you visited Sidney. You came with a boy, blonde hair, about Sidney’s age. He seemed... agitated, nervous. I remember thinking that you two seemed real close, but that you looked too young to be his girlfriend-"

"That must have been James!," Charlotte exclaimed exitedly. "My brother. He told me that we came to see Sidney. He said he knew Sid from school, or something."

A shadow passed over Sidney’s face as he battled with some internal debate.

"What is it, Sid?," I asked cautiously. He ran a frustrated hand through his still damp hair.

"Nothing. Well, I'm sure it's nothing. Only, I can't remember James at all from high school. I mean, if we went to the same school, wouldn't I have recognized him?"

"Lots of people came to visit you, Sid," said Aunt Val quietly. "People you hardly knew and probably wouldn't recognize if you saw them in the street today."

"Yeah...from the few times I spoke with James, I got the impression that Charlotte's family was pretty nomadic back then. Also...if her mom really did cause the crash, James might have felt guilty for both that, and withholding the truth from Char."

Charlotte's worried expression visibly lightened at my words. I didn’t want her to doubt her brother's story any more than necessary. Their relationship was fragile, and she needed to be able to trust him. Still, I trudged over to the bookshelf in the adjoining living room to swipe the appropriate yearbooks off the bookshelf, plonking them on the counter when I returned.

"Great idea, Arthur!," Sidney pulled open his freshman yearbook and began flipping through the pages, smiling wanly at the shenanigans memorialized in its pages.

"Yes, I _am_ known to have those from time to time," I said wryly. "We can sift through these while Aunt Val continues."

She wasted no time proceeding with her recollection. "I wasn't there the whole time to observe you with Sid. We weren't sure in the early days if he'd survive, so you can understand how tense things were. But whenever you came you always held his hand and told him to hang on, that he needed to make it. I thought it was sweet."

"Whenever I came?," Charlotte's brows knitted together in confusion. Belatedly, I realized how difficult it must be for her to constantly be at the mercy of other people's recollections of her life, her actions, her past. "I was under the impression that we came to visit Sidney just once."

"Your brother-- James, was it?-- came only once. You on the other hand came pretty much every other day for a few weeks on your own."

"I did?," she asked, smiling hesitantly as she met Sidney’s loving gaze. He abandoned the yearbook to scoot behind her chair, wrapping her in a possessive embrace. She leaned into him, both of them fixated on Aunt Val's every word.

"You sure did. And now I know why...just look at the two of you together after all these years! Does my heart some good to see it." She fiddled with her cold coffee cup. "One other thing, Charlotte. Your visits stopped for about a week. I remember because you were fairly consistent with them. When you managed to come round again, Sidney had already been discharged. One of the nurses told me you were pretty broken up, almost inconsolable. You thought you'd never see him again...I don't know what happened to you after. Seems you and Sid went your separate ways until fate decided to throw you back together."

"I guess so," Sidney replied, seemingly amazed with his good fortune.

He kissed the top of Charlotte's head and she snuggled into him with the confidence of a woman in love. Sheesh. Their pda's we rapidly become gag-worthy. 

"OK," I said loudly, narrowing my eyes at Sidney. "That's enough. I'm going to need you to step away from the female. I've reached my weekly quota for romance and might actually die if I have to watch you two get all smoochy faced and starry-eyed again."

Aunt Val smirked. "Just wait till you fall in love, Arthur. You might not feel so strongly then."

"I. Would. Never.," I said in mock outrage, while they laughed shamelessly. _At me? With me?_ Whatever. "Also, I found James." I pushed Sidney's senior yearbook toward him. "He's in the school pics from the beginning of the year...but not the graduation photos, which makes me think that they really weren't in town for that long."

Sidney and Charlotte broke apart, looking wide-eyed at the ancient vestige of James, evidence of yet another way our lives have coincided. Charlotte's fingers traced his youthful face, pursing her lips like they were a dam against unwanted thoughts.

"I don't remember any of this...," she whispered as a big fat tear rolled down her cheek. "But at least as I know that James was telling me the truth."

"Shhhhh...hey, it's ok, babe. _Breathe_. We're all here now. We'll figure this out." Sidney hugged Charlotte, wiping away her free-falling tears, while Aunt Val rubbed small circles on her back. She was clearly overwhelmed. Seriously, who wouldn’t be, given the unlikely nature their past and present lives had collided? It was enough to bring just about anyone to their knees.

Moments passed in heavy silence. I didn't know whether Aunt Val's memories of her had made Charlotte's burden easier to bear, or provided the answers she so desperately needed. Finally, when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, Sidney’s strong voice cut through the quiet, slicing the air like a knife.

"Where do you want to go from here, Char? Is knowing this enough for you?"

She sniffled daintily, swiping her sleeve across her wet eyes. "I think it's time I visited my dad. Wherever he is."

* * *

Late that night, long after dark, when the house was quiet except for its own creaky breaths, I tiptoed downstairs to sate the intense curiosity that had nagged me all day. The box had been neatly squared away in a corner, all but forgotten by everyone but myself. 

Sidney had caught me eyeing it earlier. Really, everything in it belonged to him. It held evidence of the night he fell apart only to be remade into someone completely new. Not better, or worse-- just different.

"I know you want to look inside," he said all-knowingly. Like he was God or something. 

"Do not," I replied. But I did, I really, really did. My fingers itched with the need to rip open the cover like it was a goddamned birthday gift.

"Yeah, you do. 

"Nope."

"God's sake, Arthur, it's fine! Do you always have to be so stubborn?" He looked a little green as his eyes roved the box's surface. "You can look inside. Go crazy. I'm just not sure if I can."

My heart wept for him then, if it was possible for hearts to do such things. There were some things he'd never be ready to face. Time, it seemed, didn't heal all wounds.

So, here I was, being nosy as hell as I uncovered the mysterious box. The first thing that hit me was the smell. Earthy, like old newspapers and congealed blood. When I peered in, a red and white garment lay on top, loosely bundled in bubble wrap.

It was Sidney’s old varsity jacket, the white number seventy-six so badly bloodstained it was nearly invisible. My stomach heaved in protest as I gently lifted it out, scared it would wither after years in storage. _This is what he was wearing that night. This is what they cut him out of._ When I looked closely, there were shards of glass still embedded in the punctured leather, cutting clean through like makeshift bullets. Just looking at it was painful, even more so because he never spoke about it. Never once complained.

I delved deeper, pulling out hospital release papers and preliminary reports I was too tired to read. A locket I'd almost forgotten about, along with a memory that made my eyes sting.

Why was this so hard?

I fished out a binder and flipped it open. It was filled with old newspaper clippings. Somewhere along the line, Aunt Val must have taken it upon herself to organize this stuff, although I had no idea that there'd been enough coverage to fill an entire book. The first few cutouts articled the accident, providing garish pictures or the scene. My eyes glazed over them, quickly flipping to the next page.

Frowning as I skimmed the headlines, my heart thudded sickeningly as I tried to understand what I was reading. As far as I could recall, no one had ever indicated that my parents' deaths resulted from anything but a tragic accident. 

_Foul Play Suspected in Fatal Turnpike Crash_

_High Speed, Faulty Brakes Result in Three Fatalities_

_Who Had it Out for Affluent Sanditon Couple?_

Like a kick to my gut, the last headline took the wind out of me. I swallowed the hard lump in my throat, my forehead beading with perspiration. Charlotte was certain that her mom had caused the accident, while these articles suggested otherwise. Did my parents have enemies...and where the heck did the truth lie in all this madness?

My bones cracked as I rose, taking the stairs two at a time up to Tom's study. I'd barely seen his shadow over the past two days, and hell, maybe he was asleep, but I burned with the need to confront him. Surely he'd know more about this than the rest of us.

When I barreled open the door, he jumped out of his skin from the armchair where he'd fallen asleep, sending a shot glass flying across the room. His eyes widened in fear, before drawing himself up in a pitiful attempt at self-preservation.

I threw the binder into his lap. With trembling fingers, he flipped through the plastic-lined pages, the creases lining his face deepening with each turn.

"What the fuck is this Tom?," I asked hoarsely. He looked up at me with watery eyes. "Please, tell me it was an accident."

Time stilled. Wind whipped at the windows. The binder slid from Tom's lap onto the floor, as his defeated face crumpled face into the palms of his hands.


	45. CHARLOTTE

(CHARLOTTE)

I feel the morning sun rays warming my cheeks. My feet are cold, and I instinctively search for Sid’s warmth on the other side of the bed. I lift his arm gently and nestle my shivering body next to him. Sanditon mornings are fresh, but brisk. He moans dreamily and plants a sleepy kiss on my shoulder. 

“Good morning, lovely.” He whispers in my ear. “I'm famished. What do you say to a glorious brunch at my favorite place in town?”

“Hmmm, an omelet with pancakes sounds divine.”

“They have the best coffee in the world. You'll appreciate it more than anyone else I know. I always dreamed of marrying, erm…” He stutters the rest of the sentence embarrassed. “Uhm… dating a girl who loves coffee.”

I flip myself to face him, caressing his handsome features, as he smiles mortified by the slip of the tongue. The mere fact that he's even considered marrying me makes me feel joy that has no bounds. The way he connects my past and present only makes me feel that I can’t do without him in my future. I kiss him gently, unable to resist his lips. 

“Well then, Mr. Parker, lead the way or I may have to eat  _ you _ for breakfast.”

He throws his head backwards, laughing loudly, the depth of his voice reverberating in his chest. 

“That sounds so tempting…” He licks his lips. “You are criminally delicious yourself.”

We sneak out of the house, holding hands, welcomed by the fresh sea air. I inhale slowly, enjoying the smell of water and sand. I coukd get used to living in a seaside resort. The morning ride is quiet and I take the time to enjoy the landscapes.

“I can see why my mom loved this place. It’s inspirational. I wish I were an artist…” I mumble under my nose, as speaking to myself. 

“Do you want us to go back to the gallery? I'm curious to see her work…” Sid hesitates, throwing me a tender glance. He pats my hand, squeezing it tight, and I know I can rely on him. This makes me feel braver, more focused, and a tad impulsive. 

“I don’t know that I'm ready to go back there yet.” The unsettling feeling of having a void in my life peeks its ugly head again. “I actually want to face my dad. I'm ready.”

“Can I come with you then?” He seems unsure, but hopeful. “To Spain that is.”

“Could you? What about classes? We missed the opportunity during the break…” We were too busy being angry with each other then. 

“I can have a substitute cover for me for a week. It shouldn't be a problem.” The certainty in his voice gives me hope. The truth is, my father terrifies me. Everything I remember about him involves tears, loud voices, and James’ intense presence at my side. I don’t want to ask James to come because I'm still working out my feelings towards him. I love him, but his betrayal stings. It serves as an endless reminder of a life that could have been entirely different had I known the truth about my mom. 

“I’d love to face dad with you by my side.”

“No James?” Sid is surprised, but I also sense relief in his voice. These two will need to work through some stuff before they can act naturally in each other’s presence. 

“No James.”

“Char, don’t be angry with him forever. I know he hurt you… but I think he meant well.” I am shocked to see Sid defend my brother. “You know, Arthur can be infuriating at times too, but he is the reason I am still able to function. He has been trying to carry my burden even though he has his own truths to unpack…”

“Then we must help him, Sidney.” I love Arthur, and I've been wondering what’s behind his permanent jovial facade. I started to worry about him when I saw him interact with his sister Diana and with Tom. It felt like he was holding something back, frantically attempting to disguise his true feelings. 

“We all need healing, don’t we…?” Sidney looks into the distance thoughtfully. I nod in agreement. Perhaps Spain will bring me some closure.

* * *

Our announcement that we're leaving for Spain doesn't bode well with Tom. Even Arthur couldn't hide his surprise. 

“That’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?” 

“It’s not sudden, Arthur. Char has been preparing for this for a while. Don’t shake her confidence, man!”

“No…I…I just feel like there are things here that we need to take care of before you take off for Spain.” Arthur motions towards Tom, who stands petrified, looking disgustingly guilty.

“What now!? What idiotic thing has he done this time?” Sid’s voice thunders across the room. I attempt to make my exit unnoticed, but he grabs my hand firmly before I leave. “No, Char, stay! You're part of my life now; part of this family one day, I hope. So, I need you here.”

Arthur’s eyes widen in stupor, then delight, and a giant smile lights up his face. Tom’s face deforms from utter disappointment. I don’t quite know what to make of all this. It is the second time today Sid has hinted at marriage. 

“I found these newspaper clippings in Aunt Val’s box.” Arthur motions to a pile of yellowish newspaper tear sheets spread across the coffee table. As I scroll through the headlines, my eyes widen.

“What does this mean, Arthur?” I glance at everyone in confusion, not fully understanding what's happening. “Why are the headlines suggesting there was foul play in the accident?”

My heart thumps from a heady rush of adrenaline. Could it be that my mom was not the one who caused the accident? Sidney is standing still, crumpling a piece of paper in his hands. A dark shadow overtakes his features when he addresses Tom. 

“Did you know about this!” He shoves the paper into Tom’s chest with force, propelling Tom towards the wall. He attempts to weasel his way out of this.

“Look, Sidney, we don’t have to discuss this now. When you return…”

“No! No one leaves this room until you spill the truth!”

“Really, Sidney, you can't expect us to have this conversation in front of  _ her _ !” Tom’s voice succumbs to desperation.

“And why is that, Tom!? Char lost her mom in that accident too! So, I urge you to speak because…” Sid’s fists crack in preparation. I get to him before he manages to lash out a punch in Tom’s direction. 

“Don’t.” I place a gentle kiss on his knuckles and I feel them relax from the touch of my lips. “I'm sure we can find out the truth on our own.”

“Yes! I saw the name of the officer who wrote the police report.” Arthur exclaims from behind. “I’ll contact him right away!”

“No, please don’t!” Tom’s shaking voice startles us. “I don’t want to go to jail.” Tears start streaming down his face, as he collapses on the chair. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?? Are you saying that…” Sidney deflates, overtaken by a dreadful realization. “Are they dead because of  _ you _ ?” His question perches on a thread in a room entirely too devoid of oxygen. 

We hear a thump behind the door, followed by the cries of the children. We rush to the door, to find Mary down, unconscious. There is commotion everywhere in the house. Sidney calls the doctor. Arthur ushers the children away in the playroom. Tom sits still like a mummy in the chair, unaware of everything that's happening. I sit next to Mary, holding her hand, fanning her, and speaking in low tonality, attempting to bring her to consciousness. I'm certain she overheard the conversation and thought the worst. 

“Mary, it’s Charlotte. Everything will be alright.” I put cold towels on her forehead and move smelling salts in front of her nose. “Sidney, bring me some chocolate!”

Mary starts to move a bit, opening her eyes in confusion. I lift her gently to sit up, offering her sips of water. As soon as Sidney comes with the chocolate, I put a small piece under her tongue. 

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I don’t remember.” She murmurs, weak and pale. 

“Sidney, please go play with the children and ask Arthur to come down here. Right away!”

Sidney looks at me in awe, his eyes full of adoration. Arthur comes down in a couple of minutes. 

“How can I help, Char?”

“Ok, I need you to cook a hearty salad with spinach and every color of vegetable you find in the kitchen. Make a chicken soup maybe.” As he starts walking towards the kitchen, I add: “Please bake one of your triple chocolate cakes too.”

Once the doctor leaves and Mary is sleeping in her bed, I go to the kitchen to help Arthur. He lets me stir the batter, adding yogurt and flour in small increments until it becomes soft and fluffy.

“She needs to eat well the next few days. Wholesome cooked meals. She'll need help with the children too. The doctor said that her blood sugar is very low. He will draw some blood when she recovers a bit to determine if she may have anemia.” I talk nervously, as I add the ingredients. Arthur is quiet and somber. 

Everything smells delicious. Arthur has a gift. I prepare a small bowl of steaming soup and squeeze some lemon in it. I add some salad on a nice porcelain plate and sprinkle sunflower seeds. Arthur cuts a sizable piece of cake with powdered sugar on top. 

“I’ll make sure she eats all of this. Why don’t you take a few minutes to relax, Arthur? You've been cooking for hours.” 

“No, Char, I’ll call the kids down to make sure they eat as well. Let’s meet here later to grab a bite. I’ll let Sid know.” I nod, as I exit the kitchen with a full tray. 

Mary protests when she sees the amount of food we have prepared for her. 

“I won’t leave this room until you eat every single bite.” I attempt to sound stern, but it comes across comical at best. She smiles widely and digs in. 

“Yummmm. This soup is divine. Did you make it?”

“Oh, I wish! It’s all Arthur. I’ve been thinking… He should open his own restaurant. All that passion for cooking shouldn't go to waste.”

Mary looks up at me with curiosity. She places the spoon down, next to her bowl.

“Charlotte, I owe you an apology.” She stops to take a deep breath. “The last time you were here, I don’t think I gave you a proper welcome.”

I attempt to object, but she lifts her hand, motioning for me to allow her to continue.

“No, please, allow me. I see why Sid loves you. You make him happy, but you also understand him… and the rest of us too. The depth of your pain is proportionate to his, which gives you the unique advantage to empathize. You fit seamlessly within our entire family dynamic… Thank you for your strength today. It means a lot to me.” Shy tears are prickling her eyes. I grab her hand to squeeze it, nodding with understanding and appreciation. 

“Thank you, Mary! I'm glad I was here.”

“Me too… and I'm thankful. You know, Tom isn't the villain you must think he is…”

“I don’t …” She shakes her head knowingly before I can finish my thought.

“Don’t worry. I completely understand if you see him in that light. He hasn't been kind to you...or any of us for that matter.”

As soon as she finishes the last bite of the cake, the color returning to her cheeks, I convince her to go back to bed. 

“Mary, Sid and I will put the kids to bed. I'll send them up to give you a goodnight kiss. Arthur already made sure that they've eaten.”

* * *

Once the house is quiet, Mary safe in her bedroom and the kids fast asleep after an emotional and challenging day, Sid, Arthur and I stand around the bar in the kitchen, nibbling on food remnants. The trip to Spain is on my mind. 

“We _can't_ leave Mary now. Tom doesn’t seem to be… capable of handling this.”

“But, Char… I promised to be there for you.”

“Perhaps you can join me in a few days, once things settle here…” As much as I want Sidney to accompany me to Spain, I feel like his family needs him more than I do. I want to offer to stay to assist with Mary and the children, but something tells me that there are secrets about to be unravelled that are so intimate that my presence will be more of an imposition than help. “I’d stay… but I really feel that what you are about to discover is very personal.”

I look at Sid for confirmation. Am I reading the situation accurately? My doubts are piling up.

“Stay. We can travel next week… if that’s ok with you.”

A huge relief is lifted off my shoulders. I bury my head into his chest, hugging him until he's breathless, exhaling all my doubts. 

“It’s good to have you both here!” Arthur exclaims with alleviation. “I can now eat my cake in peace.”

We each grab a fork and dig into the cake, the chocolatey sweetness melting our troubles away.

“Arthur, when are you opening your restaurant?”

He lifts his head to face me, chocolate crumbs all over his chin, a massive smile uncovering his teeth.

“You think I should?”


	46. TOM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, guys. Hopefully this chapter will make up for it!
> 
> Let's see how Tom fares telling the truth. Is redemption possible for him, or is he destined to be a stick in the mud?
> 
> Let us know what you think! We always love reading your amazing insights.
> 
> 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

(TOM)

_The truth will set you free_

As it happened, the end of the world coincided with the thud of Mary's body hitting the ground.  
  
My world, that is. Nothing puts life in perspective quite like watching your entire universe unravel like a spool of thread, while you sit back, helplessly watching it go. Because that's exactly what I was doing, with my ass firmly planted in a chair while the kids wailed at their mother's feet and everyone but me rush to her aid.  
  
I can say without a shadow of doubt that you're never prepared to see weakness in the people you love, to witness their pain knowing you can do nothing - or worse, knowing you've caused it. I'd already lost my parents, I didn't need to lose anyone else. That was my working logic, precisely the reason I chose to keep certain truths hidden from Mary...that is, until my feeble attempt at protecting her backfired spectacularly, leaving me feeling pathetic. Worse than pathetic, actually. What kind of husband can't even look past his own fears to comfort his wife and children when they need him most?  
  
 _Me, that's who. Thomas fucking Parker_.  
  
The room spins. Mouthwatering aromas of food wafting in from the kitchen make my stomach churn viciously. Footsteps and yelling, instructions given, pans clanking, the children shooed upstairs while the doctor prodded Mary, listing everything wrong with her. The whole time, I kept my distance and lost my sanity. I sat there, free falling into a cesspool of my own despair until a foot impatiently prodded mine.  
  
"Hey... _shit for brains_...wake the fuck up!"

I blinked back into consciousness, looking up to meet Sidney’s stormy face, his arms crossed ominously across his chest. Mary is nowhere to be seen, but the contents of her purse still lay scattered angrily across the floor.

"Was I asleep?," I ask stupidly. "How long was I out for?" Minutes? Hours? I can't even pinpoint the moment I blanked out. He shrugs disgustedly, but his disdain can't match the depth of my own self-pity.

"You're really something, you know that? You realize that Charlotte is upstairs, taking care of Mary and the kids? Arthur is cooking her a meal because she hasn't eaten anything decent in days, and apparently, I'm babysitting _you_ because you're incapable of doing any of this yourself!"

His mouth forms an unforgiving line, and I have to fight the urge to shrink into myself where I'm safe from his judgy glare.

"Well?," he insists, "You gonna sit there feeling sorry for yourself, or are you going to check in on your wife?"

Just for spite, I want to tell him that I'd rather feel sorry for myself, but I'm tired. And I'm done. I'm so done trying to pretend everything is okay.

"Mary doesn't want to see me, Sidney," I croak hoarsely, shifting my stiff limbs around. "Hell, I wouldn't want to see me after what just happened."

He smacks me upside the head so fast I don't know what hit me. "I think you're getting a kick out of using me as your goddamned punching bag," I bite out through clenched teeth, massaging where it stings.

"Someone needs to slap some sense into you! Honestly, sometimes I can't even believe we're related!"

_Ouch_. That hurt more than I thought it would coming from him. I guess I fail miserably at hiding my reaction because Sid looks immediately regretful.

"Jesus, Tom, I didn't mean it like that--"

"How did you mean it, then?"

He sighs frustratedly, running his fingers through his hair. Only then do I pause long enough to notice the slight shadows under his eyes, the worry lining his face.

"What happened with Mary today could have been worse." He winces as the thought flits through his mind. "So much worse. You need to understand that. Right now, the only person she needs, or wants to see is you. She's stressed, and alone, and thinking the worst possible things. Somehow, you need to find the guts to come clean with her, because all the lies are taking their toll. On all of us."

What he's saying makes sense, of course. But the more you lie, the more twisted deciphering the truth becomes. I'm like a crackhead in withdrawal, the weight of all my small deceptions suffocating me like a straight jacket.

"What if she hates me?," I whisper, not daring to meet his eye.

"Doesn't fucking matter. If you love her, you owe her the truth at the very least. She won't hate you forever..." A devious smile tugs at the corner or his lips. "But I wouldn't blame her if she does. She always was too good for you."

"Nice vote of confidence. Way to make me feel better, dude. "

"I wasn't trying to," he deadpans. "Go talk to your wife. And when you're finished, you can give us a repeat performance."

I nod tightly, easing myself up while trying to ignore the gnawing sense of dread snaking its way through my limbs.

"Oh, and Tom, if you try to run...heck, if you fall asleep, I will drag you back to this lovely corner of hell with my bare hands."

And here, I thought Arthur was the drama queen. Yet, something about his rigid stance, the steely edge of his voice, tells me he's not joking. I purse my lips, releasing a slow breath, while I reflect on how little faith he has in me. Not without reason, but it still stings.

"Don't worry, Sid," I reply wearily, "you can haul me in from the bushes out front when I botch my escape plan."

My attempt at wry humour earns me a rare, genuine smile. He knows I'm not going anywhere.

"I have no issues with that."

"Yeah, I know you don't," I say, pushing past him to climb the stairs two at a time.  
  
***

The hallway is dark, except for the bright crease of light emanating from under the playroom door. My heart contracts at the sound of the children's laughter, amid the distant echo of Charlotte's soothing voice. A wave of guilt crashes over me for how harshly I've judged her...and for selfishly sabotaging her relationship with Sidney for no good reason. I still burn with shame when I think about that note, and how despite it all she's stepped up to help us without complaint.  
  
I rest my head against the bedroom door, steeling myself against every possibility before entering. Mary and I have never had a rift this big, and the worst part is that it had happened quietly over time, without protest. There were no seeping wounds or battlescars to show as proof of our great undoing, and that scared me because how can you fix something you can't see?  
  
I swallow the dry lump in my throat as I push the door open, hyperaware of the sudden rustle of sheets. I'd voluntarily evicted myself from our bed after the memorial, most nights falling asleep on the sofa or in my study just to avoid about anything important. But now, seeing her tiny figure alone in a vast expanse of sheets, I felt stupid for deserting her when she needed me most.   
  
Even in the darkness, I can feel the heat of her gaze prickling along my skin before she turns away. "Go away, Tom," she says lifelessly, so unlike the woman I know and love, "I have nothing to say to you."

_Fuck, this is hard._ I want to curl up beside her and make it all better but I can't. Hell, I doubt she'd even let me touch her at this point. My use value as a husband is currently nil.

"I'm...Mary, I'm so sorry. There are so many things I wanted to tell you, but--"

She cuts me off, anger rising like a tide in her voice. "But what? How long have you been lying to me, Tom? I thought we were a team. I thought we were in this together. I thought we had no secrets. When the business almost tanked a few years ago, we-- God, we did what it took to save it. Together. But now...," she pauses for a moment, the room growing loud with the sound of our laboured breaths. "But now, I don't know what to believe. I don't even think I know who you really are."

My heart beats savagely to the rhythm of my own betrayal. Telling her that I was the same guy she'd met all those years ago would be a lie when I'd chamged, not necessarily for the better. I'm quickly realizing that words can't fix our fractures, or mend her faith in me. Nothing short of a fucking miracle or two could make amends for my behaviour.

"Mary, look at me. _Please_." I don’t know what makes her relent, maybe the pitiful desperation in my tone, but she meets my eyes with a dark, stubborn gaze. "I don't want to lose you. Or the kids. I'll tell you everything...and I promise that I'll do what it takes to put things right."

"Do you know what the worse part is, Tom?," she asks, quietly scoffing with empty emotion. "The worst part is that you gambled on the things that matter most. You gambled on Sidney’s life choices, assuming they'd come up in your favour. You gambled on our marriage. You gambled on our children's futures. We're all just pawns to you, aren't we? Useful until we're not. So please, save yourself the trouble of making promises you can't keep."

With those final words, Mary pulls up the covers and turns away, leaving me to question whether our marriage is salvageable. There's no remedy for the truth, no quick-fix for fuck-up husbands, no manual for mending broken promises. There is nothing that can be said right now to make this better, so instead, I shovel my heart back into my chest and head downstairs to face my second reckoning.

* * *

The three of them are hunched over the kitchen island, sharing an entire chocolate cake. The kitchen is in shambles. Dishes are stacked mile high, and the wall is stained with soup spatter, but they're probably too exhausted to care. Today has been its own singular brand of crazy.  
  
Sidney's right arm is curled around Charlotte's slim waist, while she leans her tired body into him. It's a small but intimate gesture that speaks loudly of their love. I can't help thinking that Mary and I used to do things like that, secret smiles and soft touches, just because we could. Seems like a lifetime ago, now. Arthur stands adjacent to them, speaking animatedly while his fork dangles precariously over the cake.  
  
Everything about them makes me just a little jealous of their makeshift family. Sid and Arthur jerk each other around all the time, but they're thicker than theives...and I want in. I want to know what it feels like to actually be friends with my brothers. To be able to shoot the shit with them, or ask for help without feeling guilty about forgetting about them all the other days.  
  
Arthur is the first to see me. I prop my arms up on the island and let out an exhausted sigh, ignoring Sidney’s invasive glare.

"So???," asks Arthur impatiently, handing me a dessert fork. "How'd it go with Mary?"

"She hates me," I reply through a mouthful of cake, "She fucking hates me."

"YES!," he shouts victoriously. "You owe me ten bucks, Sidney Parker. Told you she wouldn't forgive him."

"Are you kidding me?" Sidney reluctantly pulls out his wallet and hands over the cash. "You already mooch off me enough."

"Do not."

"Free food. Free rent. Free gas. Sound familiar?"

"Don’t know what you're talking about," says Arthur airily, pocketing his winnings. "I'm a gem."

"You should listen to him, Sid," Charlotte giggles. "He really is a gem."

"Am I allowed to disagree with you?," he grumbles in mock frustration.

"Absolutely not!"

My brows knit together in confusion as I look between my brothers and Charlotte. "Wait a minute...you guys bet against me?"

"Oh totally," admits Arthur without a trace of guilt. "We're shameless. And bored, but mostly shameless. I hope Mary busts your balls before she takes you back. You've got a lot of making up to do."

It's Charlotte who takes pity on me. "Come on, give the guy a break." She reaches out to squeeze my arm gently. "Today hasn't been easy for him."

"In all fairness, Char, today hasn't been easy for any of us," Arthur retorts indignantly, foking cake into his mouth.

My cheeks burn. I don't deserve her kindness, not when--, "Charlotte, I owe you an apology. I'm sorry for not giving you a chance...you and Sid, you look good together. You make him happy. I've been unforgivably rude. As to the note--"

She shakes her head, holding up a hand to stop me. "I'm going to stop you right there, Tom. There's nothing to forgive. I'm willing to move on if you are. We could have all handled that situation better. Next time I storm off, I'll send Sid a text..."

"There's not going to be a next time, is there?," Sidney asks, flinching at the thought. She rolls her eyes at him before continuing.

"I think what we all need right now is some answers."

"Yeah, answers would be nice," Arthur adds, "Like, why were you freaked out about going to jail earlier? You commit a crime or something?"

My face caves at the reminder. I can't bear to look at either of my brothers as I struggle to release the enormous burden of guilt I've carried silently for years.

"Shit. You killed someone, didn't you? Where'd you stash the body?"

"Shut up, Arthur. That's not funny." I know he means it as a joke, but I find it humourless considering what I'm about to say. I take a deep, shuddering breath as I search for the right words.

"Talk" Sidney growls impatiently, pulling Charlotte closer. "Try starting at the beginning."

I take a deep breath, my mind flipping through time before I begin. I need to say this right.

"You guys were so young when mom and dad died. When I got the call...Jesus, that was the worst moment of my life." My lips quiver slightly as I force the truth out. "What you don't know is that shortly before the accident, dad and I had a huge blowout. It was horrible. We both said things we didn't mean, me especially."

"What did you argue about?," Charlotte asks softly, "and what does it have to do with those newspaper clippings?"

"It all comes back to Rich Campion. Sidney knows that he offered to partner with Parker Properties, investing to "help" us expand." I sneak a glance at Sid to find him staring at me intently, his face curiously devoid of judgement. "I wanted our parents to take the offer. Tried to bully them into it, really. I had just gotten engaged to Mary, and I saw it as an opportunity to grow the company and make something of myself. Stupid, I know, and selfish too...but of course I didn't see it that way at the time." I swallow hard, swiping frantically at the sweat beading my forehead. "I was so goddamned angry. And irrational. I raged at mom and dad, told them I...hated them, and stormed straight into Campion's office to tell him the deal was a no-go. He was supremely unaffected by my declaration. I still remember his vindictive little smile when he assured me that he could be very... persuasive. A couple days later, they were gone. I never got a chance to make amends. They died thinking that I hated them."

"Fuuuuuuuuuck," Arthur breathes. His face is ashen with shock. "And you think Campion paid people to tamper with the brakes? Did he think that he'd get his hands on the company with mom and dad out of the picture?"

I shrug helplessly. "I can't say for sure, although that theory makes a lot of sense. Of course, I have my suspicions. Colliding with Charlotte's mom - who was, in fact, speeding - complicated tying the incident back to Campion. The police favoured the idea that trauma from the head on collision was primarily to blame for their deaths." I pause, clenching my fists to keep them from trembling. "The police can say whatever they want, but the truth is that the accident was my fault. If I hadn't been so fucking greedy, none of this would have happened."

"It wasnt your fault, Tom." Sidney’s strong, clear voice cuts through the shadows of bitter memories.

"How can you say that, Sid? After everything I just said? This is on me."

"No, it bloody well isn't," he insists, gesturing wildly. "Listen, you made some shitty mistakes, but you didn't tell Campion to pull the trigger. You didn’t orchestrate us crashing into a speeding car in the dead of night. That whole car ride, I argued with dad about wanting to opt out of the family business. I was barely eighteen, with other, more exciting ambitions. I can see now that he was probably scared you'd eff things up, but the last thing I wanted was to be stuck in my deadbeat hometown doing something I hated. For years, I blamed myself for distracting him, thinking that maybe if I'd just played along he would have seen the other car in time..."

When his piercing gaze finally meets mine, there is nothing but honesty in his eyes, tinged with an intangible sadness. Charlotte presses a kiss to his brow, a tear trailing down her flushed cheek.

"So, what I'm hearing," says Arthur slowly, "is that you've both been ridiculous jackasses who've spent the last twelve hears blaming yourselves for shit you didn't do. Or did I hear wrong?"

"That's one way of putting it," Sidney replies, chuckling, "but what I'm saying is that blame is a useless game. Tom isn't any more responsible than I am. It happened, and it's high time we got on with our lives. I think that's what our parents would want."

"But _if_ Campion did tamper with the car, if he in some way made the accident worse than it would have been otherwise, wouldn't you want him to pay?

Arthur's eyes are glazed over. He's clearly overwhelmed by all this, by the truths that couldn't hurt him when they were hidden. I wish I knew how to comfort him, but I'm lost for words. It's Sidney who knows him better. Sidney, who stands suddenly, pulling Arthur into a gruff hug before stepping back and holding him at arm's length. The gesture is so tender that I have to look away.

"Arthur, nothing will ever bring mom and dad back. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know," he sniffs.

"Nothing short of a confession will ever implicate Campion. Too much time has passed, and he's way too smart to be caught at his own game. Anyway, what good would it do when we have bigger issues to deal with right now?"

"What do you mean, Sid?," Charlotte asks, frowning.

Sidney drops his hands from Arthur's shoulders, shifting uncomfortably as he meets my eyes.

"What he means...," I stop, squeezing my eyes shut because I'm ashamed of my reckless actions, and afraid of paying the price for them. "What he means is, how could I have been stupid enough to make a deal with Campion after all this time given our history, and knowing what he's capable of?"

"I've been wondering that myself," Sidney responds tiredly, "especially when so much was sacrificed to save you from ruin not so long ago."

What he's not saying is that he was the one who'd paid for my mistakes last time, while I took his money and flirted with disaster yet again.

"I have no excuses. I was greedy, elated that with Sidney’s help, I was handed a ' _get out of_ _jail free_ ' card. Mary told me that I gambled on the nonexistent chance that you actually liked Eliza Campion enough to make it work. I gambled on everyone, and now...now I stand to lose the one thing that actually matters. If I lose Mary and the kids, I...don't know what I'd do."

Now that the truth is out there, it's overwhelming. Don't get me wrong, I also feel relieved, but I can't see a way out. I cradle my head in my hands, waiting for them to walk out on me too.

"You won't lose Mary, Tom. Or the children," offers Charlotte soothingly. "They love you....but Mary, especially is hurt. She needs to know that you trust her enough to be honest about even the most difficult things."

"I agree with Char." Sidney takes hold of her hand, a thoughtful expression playing across his features. "There's gotta be a solution."

"Please, enlighten me," I say, with more force than intended. "I can't shake him. Campion won't stop calling. I'm afraid to leave the house. To look put the window, for God's sake. This debt is a noose around my neck...I'm in too deep, guys. He's going to rip me to pieces."

The four of us exchange charged looks, the cake hanging between us like a rejected offering.

"I think," says Sidney cautiously, "that you're going to have to accept that you won't walk away unscathed. There will be consequences, and the sooner you find out what they are, the faster you can begin to piece your life back together."

My heart thunders in my chest. "What are you suggesting?"

"Avoidance is not your friend. We're going to pay Campion a visit tomorrow. See if we can lay out terms, or come to an agreement. Time to stop running Tom, and face your fears head on. You might have to choose between your losses."

I nod slowly, understanding setting uncomfortably in my belly. Campion only sees dollar bills. Everything is dispensable to him, and it's going to be up to me to save my family from becoming collateral damage.

"You're coming with me?," I ask, trying to contain the swell of hope in my chest. "I'm actually surprised you guys are still here...I thought you'd hate me by now."

Arthur startles me when he claps me on the back. I'm just glad it wasn't another punch.

"Oh, believe me, dumbass, we do. We're all judging you pretty harshly right now. You're lucky we like Mary and the kids. You're lucky you're our brother. Hell, you're lucky we're more loyal than you are. For what its worth, Parkers don't let Parkers down."

I can't help smiling just a little, because amdist the broken shambles of my life, I really do feel pretty damn lucky.

* * *

  
The house is finally quiet.  
  
I feel drained of emotion, a strange calm settling over me after accepting that there will probably be staggering losses to contend with in the coming days and months. I don't want to be alone tonight. I'm tired of sleeping in places that aren't beside Mary, so I ease myself into our bedroom and slip into bed next to her.  
  
From the familiar rhythm of her short breaths, I can tell that she's not sleeping. She doesn't turn toward me, or touch me, or bridge the wide expanse of bed between us. But she doesn't push me away either, and I'm choosing to consider that a small win.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	47. CHARLOTTE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Life caught up to us, but we're back in the full swing of things!
> 
> We hope you enjoy this mammoth Charlotte chapter...along with one or two startling revelations!
> 
> Let us know what you think!

(CHARLOTTE)

When I go back to my apartment to pack, I feel a weird sense of emptiness. Having Sidney next to me for days was so natural that the eerie silence at my place makes me shiver. I even miss his smell, the warmth of his body in the sheets, his rhythmic breathing…but, most importantly, I feel a sharp lack of meaning when I'm not with him. 

I had texted James to let him know that I'm going to Spain. He called immediately to try and persuade me to postpone the trip. He didn’t think I was ready. An urgent knock at the door lets me know that he's here. Even though I'm still angry with James for keeping so many things from me for years, I've decided to allow him to be in my life. The new me is definitely more forgiving than old Charlotte.

“I told you that I won't change my mind!” I say sternly, as I open the door for him. I stomp away furiously, shoving clothes into my bag. 

“Char, I'm not here to try to stop you…”

I pause abruptly. As I turn slowly to observe him, he hands me a stack of letters. 

“I think you need to read these before you see him.”

“Are these letters from him?” The size of the pile makes me nauseous. “Oh, James, please tell me that this isn't yet another _huge_ secret you've been concealing.”

He shakes his head. “No.” His voice is firm and honest. “You knew about his letters before the accident. You just refused to read them.”

I sigh, as I plop on my bed, venturing to open the most recent letter.

“Did _you_ read them?”

“I did.” James exhales exasperatedly. “I don’t find them particularly interesting or informative, to be honest.”

Skimming through the letter, I agree with him. Our dad’s style is dry, devoid of emotion, and somewhat contrived. It’s like he had to force every word out with violence in order to formulate the most basic sentence. In the letters, he insists that I should visit him, but it's not clear why.

“Why does he want to see me?” I look at James with bewilderment. “Wasn’t I running away from him…basically?”

“Well, you cut him out of your life completely the day you turned 18. I stayed in the house until you were old enough for both of us to leave. He was belligerent the day we packed the car…”

And, suddenly, I remember that day. James was dragging my bags out of my childhood room while dad’s thunderous voice was threatening us both. He wasn't making sense, saying that I was doing exactly what _she_ did, leaving him alone with all this burden. He meant my mom, I'm sure, but I still don’t understand what he was so upset about and what burden he was referring to, because, ultimately, I must have been the only burden she left behind. He had to raise me as a single parent during my most challenging years. 

“Do you know what he was talking about that day, James?"

“So many years after, and I still can’t tell what he was yapping about. I assumed he was delirious with anger.” His gaze hardens at the memory and I see his fists tense up, the knuckles cracking from the force. “Just the thought of you alone with him again makes me nauseous.”

“I, uh. ..I'm not going alone, James.”

Swift realization runs across his face, as he slowly opens his mouth to speak.

“Oh… You are going with _him_.”

“Sidney. His name is _Sidney_.” Irritation rises up within my voice. “After everything, why can’t you accept the fact that I'm with him?!”

“I don’t know, Char! Honestly, he hasn't done anything extraordinary to prove his worth. I mean, he hasn't even asked you out on a proper date!”

A million replies run through my head with impressive speed, but before I rush into a reply, I bite my tongue to arrange the next sentence in a way that will forever erase the smallest doubt in James’ mind.

“I don’t need a date to know that he loves me deeply. I see it in his eyes every time he looks at me. I feel it in his touch. His breath gives me oxygen when I'm suffocating. He is the hand that pulls me from the water before I drown. With him, I feel closest to her.”

James’ warm eyes fill up with shining drops of repressed tears.

“Well then, Charlotte Heywood, it looks like you have found the one.” I don’t know the last time anyone used my full name. It sounds so official. He's beaming at me, his perfect teeth blinding me. “If you feel safe with him, then I shall relieve myself of guardian duty.”

It’s bittersweet to hear him say those words. 

“Not so fast, I still need you in my life. And, regardless of everything, you'll always be my older brother.”

He gives me a strong hug and kisses my hair, as he rushes towards the door, clearly emotional. “Text me every day, ok? And, if you need backup, I’ll get on the first flight.”

* * *

Sidney is waiting for me downstairs. I told him not to worry about picking up my bags because I planned to pack lightly. I grab the letters from my dad and dash towards the elevator. I don’t want us to miss the flight. I run into Arthur.

“Char! Good luck out there. And if that freakishly handsome brother of mine can't handle your dad, call me as backup. My belly is quite the weapon, you know.” He pats his full belly with pleasure. “Sumo wrestler status right here.” 

We both explode in laughter and the echo crashes in the elevator walls, too loud to be contained within the small space. 

“In all seriousness though, after what you did for my family and my undeserving dumbass brother Tom, we all owe you big time. Spain is rather far, but I'm not opposed to a little vacation. So, if you find yourself starving, just send an SOS sign up to space.” He chuckles.

“Arthur, you're sweet, but do you seriously think that I'll _ever_ find myself starving in Spain?” I look at him incredulously. He winks at me.

“Hey, you never know. I hear those Europeans are all gone on vacation during the summer.”

As the elevator doors chime open, I hug Arthur, losing myself in his bearish embrace.

“I’ll miss you, you know.” 

“It’s just five days! It can't be that bad to spend five days alone with Sid.”

On that note, we both say our goodbyes, and I run to the parking lot.

“What took you so long?” Sidney walks towards me and grab my bags. He stops short, puzzled at the sight of the big bundle of letters.

“I know.” I nod in agreement with his sentiment. “James came and brought me these…from my dad.”

“Oh, no! What is it this time?” His beautiful face distorts with concern.

“Nothing, don’t worry. I skimmed through a few and they tell me absolutely _nothing_.”

“Ok, Char, I believe you, but we need to hurry.”

As luck would have it, there is no traffic on the way, so we make it just fine to park, check in, and head over to our gate without having to run. We sit together in front of the gate door, waiting for our group to be called. We are at the end of the plane, so the hundreds of other people form a long line. 

“Are you nervous?” Sidney caresses my hand. “We need a better plan. How are we going to look for him? From what you told me, it sounds like he does not like to spend too much time in the same spot.”

“You know…” I glaze over. The crowd of people is chattering excitedly. “I'm not too worried about this. I know we're going there because I want to put this behind me, but, if we can't find him at the predictable places, we won’t spend our entire vacation on a fool’s errand.”

I attempt to sound as nonchalant and easygoing as I can. But, the lump in my throat and the nod in my stomach tell a different story. The thought of facing my father terrifies me. Every fragment of memory I have about him is like a horror movie. It carries a fog of gloom, rain, roar, and pain. I squeeze Sidney’s hand instinctively, and he gives me a reassuring smile. He knows me better than I know myself.

* * *

Our direct flight gets us to Barcelona. Looking through the window on the way down, I see the beauty of the city. It looks symmetrical, tiny cubes arranged perfectly one after the other, one long diagonal street, cutting through the city. It feels like all roads in Barcelona lead to Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia, and you can see it from the bird’s eye of the plane, ominously ancient. The sun is just starting to come out, reflecting in the waters of the enchanting Mediterranean Sea, shades of cyan, turquoise and dark blue.

“Oh, Sidney, who knew Barcelona would be so dreamy!”

“We can spend the day here. We don't need to check into the hotel in Lloret de Mar until after three. What do you say?”

“I want to see park Guell. There's something magically fairytailish about it.”

“Did you just make up a word?”

“Hey, we're in Spain, the grammar police are on hiatus.”

His deep laugh thunders in his chest, and I dig my fingers in his hair, as I plant my lips on his. 

“Double-decker, here we come! We’ll do the hop-on hop-off thing, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You clearly didn't do your research,” I say coyly, as I drag him towards the exit of the airport. “We have about five hours to experience Barcelona. No time to waste!”

I am in love with Barcelona. It feels like home, which strikes me as soon as we land. As Catalan starts buzzing around me, I realize that I understand everything. The double decker adventure was the perfect idea for a quick tour of the famous parts of the city. Casa Batllo steals my heart, as soon as I lay eyes on it.

“We need to hop-off immediately.” Sidney rushes after me, as I jump three steps at a time to land firmly on the ground. I take a deep breath as I take in the sight. “Imagine me up there on that little balcony, modern day Juliet.” 

“This is Gaudi’s work, no?” Sidney’s eyes are full of sheer delight. “I'll be your modern day Romeo any day, so long as we live happily ever after.”

“That’s why we're here, no? To close one door and open another…”

As we walk the Paseo de Gracia, the familiarity of the city settles in. 

“Sidney, I don’t know what it is, but Barcelona feels like home. It’s as if I'm destined to live here. Is that weird?”

He stops to observe yet another Gaudi building, holding firmly to my hand.

“Not weird at all.” He says dreamily, the outline of his profile looking divine with Gaudi’s work as a backdrop. “There is something about this city…”

I stick my hand in the back pocket of his jeans, as he reaches for mine. We chatter excitedly, oblivious to the fact that we maybe slept two hours combined on the plane. As we pass by a small shop, Sidney’s gaze focuses on something on display. He swerves us both in the direction of the door. 

“What is it?” I ask, surprised.

“You’ll see.” As we enter, I greet the owner. She is elegant, long dark hair, striking green eyes and exquisite features. Her neck is decorated by the most peculiar necklace. Her long fingers exhibit gorgeous designer rings. Sidney points to a necklace in the display and she presents it to him with a grin. 

“Good choice. You have excellent taste, sir.” Her English is almost perfect, even though there is a touch of an accent. The necklace represents a square, a small purple stone in the middle. The square reminds me of Gaudi’s work and of Casa Batllo. Dark purple, mixed with magenta accents, creating a true masterpiece. “There is a bracelet and a ring that come with it, if you want to have the ensemble. All my work is one of a kind. You won’t find this type of jewelry elsewhere.”

“We absolutely want the ensemble!” Sidney’s eyes are full of adoration as he slides the bracelet on my arm. “Do you love it?”

“I love _you_!”

* * *

As the train departs Barcelona on the way to Costa Brava, I snuggle into Sidney’s chest, listening to the calming beating of his heart. My own heart is full, bursting at the seams. I fall asleep with the regular clickety-clack of the train. I don’t know how long I must have been out, but Sidney’s gentle touch brings me back. 

“Char, we're here.” We take a taxi to the hotel. Sidney picked Marsol when we were quick-booking the trip, and seeing the view from our room, I truly appreciate the choice. The magic of the water with a bright blue sky as a backdrop soothes my senses. The murmur of the waves brings the smell of salty intoxication. 

“I want to dip my tired bones in that blue water outside!, ” I plead. 

His charming smile disarms me, my knees feeling weak. I feel the pounding of my heart, as he slowly starts to undress me. 

“And I want to feel your bare breasts, prickling from the tug of my lips, while you moan my name in ecstasy.” He whispers in my ear. “I want to see that necklace outshined by the beauty of your naked curves.” His hands reach down, as his lips start their slow descent down my neck. They stop to savor my nipples, as he locks my hands above my head. His tongue draws passionate circles around my breasts, down my belly, until his tongue reaches that spot where I want him most, where I feel pulsating need. My body shifts and convulses, as I implore for more.

His tongue departs to start an ardent ascent back to my neck, as my legs lock him into a violent thrust. The fervent rocking of our bodies, entrapped as one, sends echoes across the room. Our loud panting and moaning resonate through the gentle splashing of the waves outside. We both exhale defeated, laying motionless on the neatly tucked sheets. 

“I missed you.” He whispers breathless. 

“I can see that.” I say playfully, attempting to stand up. He wrestles me back onto the bed.

“Not so fast. I need a repeat.”

“Tonight.” I breathe, as I squeeze out of his embrace. “I want to dip myself in the sea now.

* * *

We grab a bite at the hotel, as we are both famished, and there is no Arthur to indulge our cravings. The food is flavorful and mouthwatering. By the time we are done with the feast and the multiple seconds at the dessert table, we are finally headed towards the beach. We walk barefoot, letting the water caress our feet, admiring the immense roughness of the rocks, washed by the crashing waves. A castle perched on a cliff oversees it all. 

“Ahhhhh, Castell d’en Plaja…” Sid silently nods in agreement, as we proceed in the direction of the castle. A big sign greets us at the door. “ _Exposición de las obras de Almaviva._ ” My heart stops, as all the blood is drained from my face. 

“They're showing my mom’s work…” My voice is barely a whisper. Sidney squeezes my hand and pulls me closer. 

“We don’t have to go in, you know… if you're not ready.” He hesitates, searching my face. 

Since the day I walked out of the hospital room, feeling the weight of the dreary loneliness of my amnesia, I have been preparing for this. The sheer whiteness of the hospital walls and the complete lack of character in my past are long gone. I stumbled into the most unexpected family along the way to discovering myself, and I feel strength in my feet, as I take a firm step towards the entrance. 

“No. It’s time.” I look Sidney straight into the soul, as I command him. “Don’t let go. Not even for a second.”

Sidney gives me a steady nod and we both push the doors to enter my past. The space is massive, a few people scattered across, silently observing the art. The small figure of a bony man stands next to one of the guests. He speaks excitedly. As his voice reaches us, shivers run down my spine. I freeze. It doesn’t take long for my gaze to clash with his. Across the large hall, he zeroes in on me, a look of stupor and mortification. 

“That’s him, isn’t it?, ” Sidney murmurs under his breath. His body intensifies and it seems that he grows taller by a couple of inches. 

“Yes.” My voice shakes, as my body shudders. “He seems so small, and yet… he was always so frightening.”

My dad quickly approaches us, and I instinctively move closer to Sidney. 

“Charlotte, is that you?” He observes me closely. “You've changed…”

I nod, incapable of speaking, a large nod blocking the airways in my throat. 

“What are you doing here?”

My paralysis is permanent, it seems. Sidney notices my shock. “She came to find you.” His voice is ice cold, a steely pitch cutting across my dad’s confidence.

My father observes Sidney head to toes, clearly displeased that I am letting a stranger speak for me. 

“And you are…?”

“Sidney - my boyfriend.” Finally able to speak again, I decide to defuse the tension. 

“And where is James?”

“Not here.” Sidney interjects again with the same stony expression. I gently squeeze his hand in pleading. 

“James couldn't come.” 

“What brings you here, Charlotte? I've been writing for years. I was sure you never read my letters…” Reproach seeps through his pores. 

“I didn’t care for them, to be honest.” I pause at my own insolence. My dad is clearly shook by the honesty of my words. I can see how they cut deep through the facade. “I came for her.”

I point in the general direction of my mom’s art work, scattered across the stone walls of the castle. A dark shadow crosses my father’s face. 

“Well, everyone else here came for her too, so go right ahead.” He moves out of our way to allow us to proceed. “If you decide you want to see _me_ as well, you know where to find me.” 

His bitterness leaves a sour taste in my mouth, as I drag Sidney towards the other side of the hall. We stop in front of an ominous painting of sharply falling clifftops, crashing angry sea, and dark sand. Sidney gasps in awe.

“Char, the backdrop is Sanditon.” We both observe the landscape. She captured the sensual, yet rough, beauty of the cliffs so well. Tears fill my eyes. It’s like my mom knew that my future would be infinitely intertwined with her present when she painted this. 

We roam the hall, admiring my mom’s raw talent. She had a gift. Her strokes are free, unapologetically bold, and her passion comes across in every painting. There are landscapes, but also a number of portraits. I leave Sidney behind to observe another Sanditon work. But I feel a strong pull towards a darker side of the hall, where hidden away from most eyes, stands a large portrait of a young man. His eyes are uncommonly kind, a mix of a hickory caramel umber. He is handsome and distinguished. His lips are lush and wanting. His features are gorgeously manly. I pause, astonished. Then, I sense Sidney’s breathing on my neck.

“Char…erm…who is that?” He is as befuddled as I am. 

“ _This_ is Charlotte’s dad.” A raspy voice startles us from the shadows. 


	48. CHARLOTTE'S DAD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been too long! Charlotte’s dad speaks...  
> Tell us what you think about him and if his perspective changes yours!

(CHARLOTTE’S DAD)

It’s not that I don’t love her. When she was born, I felt a storm of butterflies in my stomach, holding her tiny little feet. Her big brown eyes looked at me with wisdom so profound that it left me speechless. Alma smiled with delight when she saw the joy in my eyes. 

“Are you happy?”

“I just can’t believe she’s mine.” 

“Well, you'd better believe it.”

And I did. I cherished every moment with little Charlotte. I savored every laugh, every smile, every time she called me “daddy.” James adored his little sister too. The two were inseparable from the day Charlotte took her first shaky little step into a world full of adventures. Our summers in Lloret de Mar were almost picture perfect. Alma worked on her art. The children were bouncing around with excitement for having the sand and water so close. But I felt a debilitating lack of purpose and my mood swings intensified, and my depression conquered every corner of my soul with a methodical precision. I was losing myself. 

My anger exploded out of me in the most unusual places. I yelled at the children for not following my every direction. I insisted that they all had to do exactly as I said. I was turbulent and vile. The only thing that saved me from myself was Alma. Her tender voice, smooth as silk. But I could tell even then that she was losing patience, and the sparkle in her eyes dimmed down until she stopped painting. 

“I can’t live like this! I won’t live like this!” Alma told me one evening when the children were fast asleep. “You don’t deserve us.”

That evening proved to be the beginning of the end for us. Afterwards, I tried to suppress my violent outbursts for as long as I could, until they started pouring out of me unchallenged, rough and thunderous. Alma smoothed out the edges, her kindness guiding her every word. Charlotte’s jovial personality retracted. She became timid and frightened. She stopped calling me “daddy” and there was terror in her eyes every time I came close. This made me desperately irate, yet helpless. Alma begged me to seek help, but I refused to. I didn’t need help. I was not weak. 

Over the years, Alma started taking mysterious trips under the pretense of sabbaticals. When confronted, she defensively explained that her inspiration required absolute exile, away from the world, which also meant away from us. Her absence made my outbursts even more dangerous. I was abusive. I was aggressive. As a result, I lost James’ respect and I could feel his disdain sipping through every pore. He grew muscular and strong, just like his grandfather on his mother’s side. I couldn’t recognize my son in this intense young man who always materialized when Charlotte was in trouble. He defended her in everything, and they both started to defy me just for spite.

One night, Alma returned from a trip. She was glowing, speaking excitedly about her work. She had a trunk full of canvasses. I insisted that I want to see them. She refused to show them to me. She had never done this before, so suspicion and jealousy quickly filled my veins. I waited until she was taking a bath and opened the trunk. There were landscapes from Sanditon, her favorite place. There was also a striking large canvass of a storm, where Alma was looking towards the tumultuous sea, where a man was swimming. 

I was struck by the feeling this painting conjured in me. Alma never drew herself into her art. This intensified my doubts, and I frantically foraged through the rest of the paintings, only to find a massive portrait of a man. Just one look at him was enough for me to know that I was not Charlotte’s father. When Alma came back in the living room, I was pacing next to the portrait, fuming. 

“Who is he?” I yelled. 

“Shhh! The children are sleeping.” Even the spell she had over me was not enough to calm me down. 

“Who is he!?” I hissed through my teeth. “He is Charlotte’s real father, isn’t he?!”

She collapsed, defeated, onto the ground, trembling and crying hysterically.

“Yes. He’s Charlotte’s real father. He drowned the day I found out I was pregnant with her…” Her voice was a bare whisper. 

“How could you!” I lifted my hand, holding the knife I had grabbed from the kitchen. I wanted to cut through the canvass, the pain, and the betrayal that I felt. Alma’s eyes were full of horror, but she inserted her delicate figure between the knife and the canvass just as I lunged towards the painting. The knife grazed her frail skin. Tiny drops of crimson red drizzled on the carpet. 

“I won’t let you touch it!” She grabbed the painting and dragged it back to her car, panting from the exertion, blood spilling down her arm. Before I could react, she was speeding away from our driveway. That was the last time I saw Alma. 

The only thing she left behind, besides her paintings, was a half-written letter. I don’t know when she began writing it or if she intended to give it to me, but I had it, and I read it every day. It was a constant reminder of Alma’s betrayal. It was also agonizing evidence of what I lost. 

_ “My heart was never yours. I let it drown that day, when the love of my life was consumed by the sea. But, as life started growing in my belly, the beating of my heart got stronger, in sink with her tiny little one, and I knew that I had to make an effort for her. I had to build a family for my little girl.  _

_ You came into my life unexpected, your adoration unconfined, and I allowed myself to believe that I can build a future based on an illusion. You encouraged my talent. You allowed me to flourish. You gave Charlotte love and security. And, for the briefest of moments, I convinced myself that it was working. _

_ I don’t believe you to be wicked by nature, but your stubbornness prevailed. It overwhelmed even my most eager attempts to equilibrium. Once the balance was gone, we vanished with it. You and I, we were never meant to be, and I am sorry I betrayed you.  _

_ Charlotte is just like her father. She has a sensitivity that runs deep within her. She has the potential to love passionately and without restraint, but she will not be able to do so in your presence. You will suffocate her, just like you suffocate me, and I cannot allow that. _

_ We will be gone in the morning. Please tell James that we both love him dearly. He was a sweet little boy when I met him, desperately needing some affection, but he has grown to be a capable young man. He transcends your viciousness with grace. I am not worried about him. Please know that…” _

I spend hours every day wondering what she wanted me to know. Did she ever love me or did I invest my heart into a love that was doomed from the beginning? If I had tried harder, If I had attempted to work on my anger…perhaps she would have stayed.

* * *

Seeing Charlotte tonight with this man brings back all those feelings I have been suppressing for years. Her obvious disdain cuts right through my shield. Her eyes couldn't disguise just how much she truly despises me. She always sought protection, first from Alma, then James, and now from this earnest young man. The way he clenches his jaw when I approach, I could almost hear the intense rumble in his chest. The glacial composure of his figure unsettles me. The way he draws her close puts a dagger through my chest. I could never make amends. They would never let me.

I don’t know if Alma’s injury from my cut led to her accident. I'll never know. She was driving in the vicinity of Sanditon when it happened. Years later, I visited a gallery in Sanditon where I saw one of her paintings, the one that birthed my doubts. I had a heated argument with the gallery owner, as he refused to tell me how he acquired it. Alma must have gone to Sanditon that night. Did she give it to him, and why? 

For years, I had the portrait of Charlotte’s dad buried. I felt the urge to burn it, to cut it into tiny little pieces. But, every time I tried to destroy it, Alma’s voice told me to stop. I don’t know what possessed me to exhibit it here tonight. Sometimes I feel that Alma’s spirit takes residence within my heart. 

As soon as Charlotte walked in the direction of the painting, I wanted to prevent her from seeing it. I did not want her to learn the truth before I could explain, before I could attempt to make amends. Even with all the pain, guilt, and self-loathing, I loved Charlotte. But I was too late. She was standing there, dumbfounded. 

“This is Charlotte’s dad,” someone says, pointing to the painting, an older gentleman, emerging from the crowd. I don’t even know where he came from, but it takes me just a couple of minutes to recognize the gallery owner from Sanditon. 

“What do you mean?” Sidney interjects. “And who are you?”

“I am Charlotte’s grandfather.”


	49. SIDNEY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a mammoth! Once again, thanks for waiting so patiently between chapters.
> 
> This chapter was difficult to write, but we hope you love it as much as we do. It's got a little sadness, a little truth, some heart to hearts, a surprise...and of course some much needed Arthur!
> 
> Drop a comment, we love reading them!

**(SIDNEY)**

_Toast to the ones here today/Toast to the ones that we lost on the way_

I have no idea what's happening. We came to Spain for answers, but this right here is the soberest, least fun version of Jerry Springer I've ever seen. We've got a standoff, two men, and a painting-cum-paternity test. It's mindfuckingly confusing in a way that makes you want to bang your head against a wall.

A virtual stranger has just revealed himself to be Charlotte's grandfather, and yet she doesn't flinch from his insane declaration. She doesn’t recoil from his words, or demand a different truth. Instead, she pins him with a hard gaze, her eyes snaking between the likeness of a man who could quite possibly be her male incarnation, and the grizzled man who raised her. She takes one step back, and then another, her fingers falling from mine as something occurs to me.

"Charlotte, do you know this gentleman?"

I gesture toward the man in question, but she shakes her head and swallows hard, her deep brown eyes glassy and wide. 

"No," she says weakly. "I mean, yes, but no, not really. He's the gallery owner in Sanditon. Esther and I...we met him the one time we visited. But he...he didn't say--" her voice trails off, leaving nothing but the static hum of charged silence in its wake.

"..didn’t tell you he was quite possibly related to you?" She nods tightly. "No, I don't imagine he would have," I murmur, noting the undeniable resemblance between them. And painting dude. All three of them share dark hair and dimpled chins, framed within the same kind face.

"It seemed apropos at the time," the older man interjects hastily, "Charlotte and her friend were so very adamant about a particular piece in our collection. Touching Water, in fact. I didn’t make the connection until they'd left, and to be honest, until today, I've doubted the truth of my suspicions." He pauses for breath before extending his hand. "I'm Remy, by the way."

His hand is warm and firm when I take it, a million questions reeling through my mind like a broken record. I can't imagine what Charlotte is going through right now. If her pale face is any indication, she's more than a little shocked at this unexpected turn of events. I can't blame her for that, but it's her stillness that's disconcerting. Her past is as fragmented as her fragile memory. I'm scared about how she'll handle whatever the truth happens to be, and worried about how it will change her...and us.

When Remy releases my hand, he makes the slightest movement towards Charlotte, as if he wants to take her hand as well, or maybe fold her into an awkward hug. When she inches backward yet again, I'm sure that I see something akin to hurt flicker across the old man's face. His hand falls away, and the moment is lost. Reaching out, I brush my fingers against hers, the barest of touches to say that I'm with her, that I feel her pain, that it's ok to be afraid.

The crowd is now waning a bit now, less people sauntering in from the ancient streets. I check my watch, making a split second decision.

"I have an idea." Three pairs of eyes are suddenly focused on me. "The exhibit is going to close up for the day soon...and clearly, you guys need to talk. There's a tapas joint just down the street-- Bar Isabel, I think...why don't you meet us there in, say, an hour?"

"I know the place," says Charlotte's dad gruffly. "I'll be there." 

"I'll be there too," her grandfather adds eagerly. 

When we've settled our plans, we exit the building, grateful for the cool rush of fresh air. My lungs feel stretched, as if I've been holding my breath for too long. Charlotte walks ahead of me, looking like something out of a fairytale as she runs her slender fingers along the worn brick facades. I want to get a feel of what she's thinking, but the situation is delicate. I don't want to push her into talking before she's ready.

Without warning, she stops in her tracks, leaning against the wall and angling her face up to catch the sun's glare.

'I think I'm having a panic attack." Her eyes grow round with fear. My heart contracts when I see her looking small and vulnerable against the vast expanse of blue sky. "What if this is a mistake, Sidney? What if the truth hurts more than not knowing?"

"This is your choice, babe." I step into her space, wrapping my arms protectively around her and pressing a kiss into her hair. "Ball's in your court. Only you can decide if you're ready to face your past. I can't tell you what to do, but I'm here for you either way."

"And if I decide to walk, to pretend this never happened?," she asks tentatively.

"Then we walk."

"Just like that? You wouldn't judge me for bringing you all this way for nothing?"

"Unlike Arthur, I would never judge you." The imprint of her smile blooms across my chest. "And who says I'm here for nothing? Last time I checked I was in Spain with the woman of my dreams."

She leans back and cocks an eyebrow, a pleased smile tugging at her lips. "The woman of your dreams, huh?"

"Maybe," I reply, attempting a poker face and failing miserably. "Now come on... you have one hour to decide your fate."

****************

A short while later, the four of us are sequestered at a too-small table in a corner of a room that seems to be in the throes of continually giving birth to itself. No one seems to notice the drinks that rattle and splash as servers bump tables. I doubt anyone cares. The music, the savoury aromas, the people, with their sun-kissed skin and smiling faces and unreserved conversations, are all to big for this tiny space, but somehow it works. 

The erratic hum of noise provides us with the perfect sort of privacy. Since we arrived first, Charlotte made quick word of ordering a variety of tapas, which now sit untouched between us. My stomach rumbles, but I'm not hungry; I think she thought I was joking when I said I wouldn't touch anything with tentacles, but it's more than that. There's an uncomfortable buzz in the air, like they all want to say something, but no one knows where to start.

Charlotte's leg drums nervously against mine, and it takes all of my willpower not to still her body's natural reaction. 

"So here we are...," her "dad" ventures eventually, forking croquettas into his plate. He says his name is Will, but I'm betting that Charlotte won't be using it much. "Have you been getting the money I've been sending you?"

Charlotte doesn't take the bait. "How could you not tell me that mom died? Who gave you the right to keep that from me?"

"James told you, then," he says with a voice that sounds as weatherbeaten as he is. The blood drains from his face, revealing the tortured soul beneath his false bravado. For an instant, he appears to be choked up before thinking better of it. Setting down his cutlery, he fixes her with a steely glare. "Maybe it was the wrong choice, but I was trying to protect you. God, that night-- you have no idea-- that was the worst night of my life. I lost...everything when she died. As your dad, I had to make a split second decision...protect your image of your mother, or shatter it with the truth."

"You're not my dad," Charlotte hisses quietly. "You never were. For years, I believed she left us. Left me. I wondered what I did wrong. I thought I'd be able to find her one day...can you imagine what that does to a person?" Remy and I both flinch at the severity of her statement. Her words are harsh, cruel even, but they're also an accurate depiction of her pain.

"I know I'm not your dad," Will replies angrily, slamming his fist on the table, "but your mother damn well made me believe that I was! I was her substitute lover, and she fooled me til the end." He stops, looking away, clenching his fingers. When he speaks again, his tone is gentler. "You and I, Charlotte, we never stood a chance. We were both competing for her love with a ghost. Don't misunderstand me, she loved you. Deeply...as much as a woman like her could. But her heart was tied to the idea of someone who was long gone."

Charlotte swipes at her eyes. There's no hiding the hot trail of tears that blaze down her cheeks. I hand her a napkin, squeezing her knee under the table.

"Hey, are you ok?" I ask, concerned. Her nod is barely perceptible. "Remember, just say the word and we're out. You don't have to do this."

Her tragic eyes don’t take long to find mine. "I think I _need_ to do this. Or else I'll always wonder." She takes a steadying breath and a deep drink before speaking again. 

"I can't believe you're James' dad," she mumbles softly, as if to herself.

Will shrugs, regret flickering brightly across his features. "It seems you both take after the parents you'll never know. Maybe that's why you two were always inseparable."

"I'm pretty sure we stuck together because I lived in fear of your outbursts," she retorts. "My only memories of you are violent. Angry and loud, as if you were mad at the world. Did you know that? Is that how it always was with us?"

"I'm not perfect, but I'm not a monster either. Funny how you've chosen to forget every good memory we made...bet you can't remember all the times your mother left us to pursue her art." He pauses, shifting the food around on his plate. His next words infused with heartache. "I loved your mother more than anything, but we were bad for each other. I...struggled when Alma was away, and was even worse after she was gone. I didn't understand why I wasn't enough, and I let the guilt and shame and anger eat me up. By the time I came to my senses, it was too late to atone. I'm sorry that I didn't seek help...but it wasn't all bad, Charlie Bear."

"She left us?" Charlotte looks so crestfallen, so small in the wake of all these little revelations that I feel the need to say something in her defense. 

"Will, Charlotte isn't picking and choosing what she wants to remember. The night she found out her mom had passed, she was in an accident. She suffers from amnesia...so all of this," I gesture grandly between the two of them, "is new and confusing for her."

Neither one of them seems capable of responding. This is war, and between them stands a world of hurt. They've both been injured by the same person, but instead of letting it bring them closer, it's done nothing but tear them apart. Tension rolls off the two of them in waves, reverberating so loudly that I'm surprised no once else in the room seems to notice. Whatever they could have been was doomed a long time ago, maybe even before Charlotte was born. I feel devastated for her, that the mother in her dreams doesn't align with the reality of who she was while she lived.

Remy's wrinkled hand breaks my train of thought as it snakes across the table to take Charlotte's. This small act of kindness takes Charlotte by surprise, but she doesn’t pull away this time.

"Are you alright, my dear?," he asks, his voice laced with genuine concern. One look at his pale face is enough to know that he's thinking about all the close calls Charlotte has somehow managed to avoid. 

"Yes, I am now," comes her soft reply, just before she repossesses her hand. "And what about you, Remy? How did you know I would be here?"

He smiles wanly. "Coincidence, if you believe in such things. I make it my business to stay abreast of Alma’s work. When I heard that your father would be exhibiting never before seen pieces, naturally I had to come."

"He's not my father," she insists yet again, seemingly unable to let the matter rest.

"Perhaps Will is not the father you needed...but he is more to you than my son had a chance to be. You don't get to my age without realizing that these distinctions only hold power over us if we let them."

A deep blush creeps up Charlotte's neck, settling in her cheeks. She looks uncertain, but throughly chastened when she meets Will's gaze.

"I didn't come here to fight."

"Neither did I," he replies quietly, pulling a creased square of paper from his pocket and sliding it toward her across the table's surface. The corners are dog-eared from age, or too much use. "Your mother left me this, that last night. It's yours now."

She stares hesitantly at his offering. "What is it?"

"A love letter. Or maybe an apology...I can't rightly say. You should know that in the end...she chose you, kid. I hope you see that when you read it."

"Thank you," Charlotte says, tucking the paper carefully into her purse.

Will tilts his head in acknowledgement as he scrapes his chair back and rises awkwardly. His gaze sweeps the table. "I think I'm going to go now." 

"You don't have to..." I volunteer out of politeness more than anything else.

He sighs heavily. "Yes, I do. I don’t think I can bear to hear about Alma with another...well, you know." Turning to his daughter, her grips her shoulder. "Thank you for this, Charlotte...for coming to see me one last time. I'm sorry for letting you down."

"I'm sorry too, Will."

He turns to go, takes two or three steps before sheepishly circling back up the tiny passage. "Uhm...If you happen to see James, tell him-- tell him that I'm sorry...and that I love him." 

"Tell him yourself," Charlotte replies evenly, her voice filled with love for a brother who deserves more. "While you still can. Before it's too late."

His pain makes him real, but his regret makes him human. It's clear that this is hard for him, that he's not a man who dishes out _I_ _love yous_ on the regular. Will holds Charlotte's gaze for a beat longer before turning away and making his exit. I don't know if he'll follow her advice, but I hope he does. 

A passing waitress bumps our table, bringing the present back into clear focus. Without Will, our party feels more relaxed, but there's still a nervous hum present in the persistent jostle of Charlotte's leg against mine, in bunched up paper napkins and cold plates of food.

"I suppose you'll be wanting to know about your parents," Remy murmers. It's a matter of fact statement.

"I can't deny that I'm curious," Charlotte responds excitedly. Her face lights up for the first time in hours. "I've been thinking so many things since seeing Touching Water in Sanditon. The painting felt so intimate that I wondered...and then today happened, and it's been, wow, you know? I can hardly wrap my head around it."

Remy and I both smile at Charlotte's animated rambling. His chin dimple peeks through his short beard, and I'm struck again by their uncanny resemblance.

"My son's name was Aidan. I used to call him and Alma _Bonnie and Clyde_ because they spelled trouble. They were larger than life. Young and vibrant, and so full of...well, everything. Always fighting or making love, there was no in between." He releases a shuddering breath, memories passing like liquid glass over his eyes. "They thought they were invincible, until they weren't. 

"They sound...wonderful."

"They were wonderfully tragic. I'm not sure, all things considered, that theirs is a story you want to know."

Charlotte bites her lip, deep in thought. "After today, I may never see you again..." She pauses abruptly, her meaning apparent in all the words she doesn't say.

"They don't have a happy ending, my dear," he insists somberly, eyes bright with the understanding that this might be his only chance to give Charlotte a version of her parents before all the in-betweens of life and death had their way.

"Tell me anyway," she whispers.

* * *

They speak for hours, until my eyes grow heavy and my head lolls against the table, and their voices are the loudest thing in the tiny restaurant. It takes me a full blown ten minutes to get the feeling back into my feet so I can stand.

When we part ways that evening, there are no promises made. Remy's been around the block enough times to know not to plan for the future, or push Charlotte into a relationship before she's begun to process everything that's happened today. We've only been in Spain for a day, but it might as well be a million. I feel older than I was this morning, sedated under heavy truths that have the power to shift Charlotte's view of herself, and her worth as a lover, a sister, a friend. 

I'm not sure how I feel about that. Mostly, I'm scared for us to change, if changing doesn't mean growing into something more than we are now.

Her hand feels small in mine as we meander the streets back to the hotel shrouded in silence. She's subdued. I'm not surprised. I don't ask questions, and she doesn't volunteer answers. We focus on everything but each other, like how if you look closely enough, you can see bands of the Milky Way interspersed amongst the stars. Like how tiny we are beneath them.

"It's so pretty up there," Charlotte breathes, pulling closer.

"Yeah, it is." But I'm not looking at the sky. I'm looking at her, at the soft shadows of starlight on her smooth face, the stain of worry under her eyes, thinking about why sad things are so unbearably beautiful.

Back up in our room, Charlotte declares that she needs a shower as soon as she's through the door. It's a statement, not an invitation, and I'm glad that she can't see the disappointment on my face. I'm struggling a little with the resurrection of what feels like a wall between us, but also trying to be cautious of respecting her emotional needs. Underneath all this is the realization of how much I need her, probably more than she needs me right now.

Refusing to give into self-pity, I decide to get comfortable. The hotel room is unnaturally warm, so I ditch my shirt and pull on some shorts before sinking into the cool bedsheets. While Charlotte showers, I fire off some work emails and post a few lesson plans up on Blackboard, mentally preparing for conducting virtual classes on the off chance that we need to extend our trip.

My eyes are almost closed when the sight of Charlotte wearing a pale blue slip that barely covers anything pumps adrenaline back into my veins. She looks hot. My body reacts instantly, until I catch sight of her face. There's an emptiness in her eyes that makes me uneasy.

"You've been crying." God, just the thought of her crying alone in the shower makes my heart hurt.

"Couldn't help it. I read the letter...the one my mom left."

She climbs up onto the bed, and settles herself between my legs. There's something incredibly right about how she feels against me. When she runs her fingers down my thighs, my pulse stammers in the wake of her touch, but I hold back, pressing a hesitant kiss just under her ear when I want to do so much more. 

"We don't have to talk about it. Not if you don't want to." For the record, I absolutely think we should talk about it, about all of it, but I also don't want to push her away by pressuring her into doing what I think is right.

She pulls my arms around her, but doesn't say anything. The sound of our steady breathing fills the room, until I feel like I'm being swallowed by it. Maybe she's not ready. Maybe she'll never be. Hell, it took me twelve years to visit my parents graves, so I understand better than most. I'm so deep in my own thoughts that her quiet voice startles me.

"When I woke up in the hospital, I was so alone. I didnt know who I was, and it fucking terrified me." She shudders at the memory. "That's kind of how I felt today. When your mind is empty--"

"Your mind's not empty, babe."

She sighs, looking up at me out of the corner of her eye. "You know what I mean, Sidney. When you don't have two memories to rub together, your mind plays tricks on you without the truth to keep it in check. You piece yourself together from pictures and dreams and snippets of what other people tell you, and what really happened, along with who you were before gets lost in translation."

"But that's normal, Char. Not the losing your memory part, but everything you've done to recover it." 

"Is it?," she asks, sounding spaced out. "Because I've been trying to process everything that I learned about myself today, and...I just feel so stupid." 

" _Why?"_

"Because I built this story in my head of what my life was like growing up. My mom painted and sang and loved me unconditionally. James was my protector. And my dad, or his dad I should say, was always mean and vicious. It was us versus him." She pauses for breath, sinking further into me, while I teeter on the edge waiting for what she'll say next. "I really came here thinking that meeting him would confirm that narrative. That everything I thought about him, and her, and us would be true. How naive is that? He did a lot of wrong, but so did my mom. Ughhhhh, don't even know what to think anymore..."

"Tell me about the letter, Charlotte," I say softly. If she doesn't want to, it's fine, but I have a sneaking suspicion that reading it exacerbated fresh wounds.

"Will was right," she begins, "In the end she did choose me, but knowing that still leaves me feeling empty. The night of the accident, they had a huge fight. It escalated fast. She stormed off, and told him she was coming back to take me with her." Charlotte buries her face in her palms, close to tears. "It was so horrible reading her words, Sidney. She was going to take me away from James. I don't know about the old me, but the woman I am now is so, so angry about that! And she made Will think he was my dad right up until the end. She married him knowing she was carrying another man's child-- who does that?"

"A mother who's scared and alone and thinking only about protecting her unborn child."

"But she married him for all the wrong reasons!," Charlotte seethes.

"She married him for you, Char, hoping that it was the right choice for both of you. I mean can you imagine what she was going through?" 

"Do you honestly believe that? Because I don't buy it." He voice wavers slightly, and that's when I know...

"Hey, it's ok to be angry," I whisper, running my fingers down her arms, trying to calm her down. "You know, Plato said that love is a serious illness--"

She elbows my stomach. "Really, Sidney? Philosophy? _Now??"_

"Ouch, that hurt!," I complain, massaging the sore spot but laughing nonetheless. "Just wait til I get you back!"

"You deserved it!," she fires back. God, I love it when she's feisty.

"What I meant is that not all loves are created equal. Love is as imperfect as we are. It's possible for your mom to have loved you unconditionally and still be torn between the love she lost and the life she chose. It's possible that Will's love for your mom wasn't reciprocated, and that caused him to take it out on you and James. Love makes us all a little crazy. It doesn't always make things better...and sometimes, it's just not enough when you need it to be."

She doesn't say anything for a while, but I can practically hear her thoughts whirring in the background. I wish I could reach inside and make it better for her, but I'm on the outside looking in. I'm beginning to drift off when Charlotte shifts her body, turning to straddle my legs. My arms skate up her bare legs to curl around her waist. 

"Remind me again why you weren't sitting like this the whole time?" 

"Because you're too easily distracted," she replies, brushing her lips against mine. It's a goddamn struggle not to demand more when my need for this woman feels like fire in my blood. 

"Do you know what the worst part is?," she asks with quivering lips, her glistening eyes never leaving mine.

"Tell me."

"The worst part is that James isn't my brother. Not for real. And somehow, it's a loss that seems bigger and more hurtful than everything else."

My heart seizes because I was afraid of this. Of how she'd react when she made the connection between her and James not being blood related. I'm betting he doesn't know the truth about them either, so at least they can't be upset at each other on that score, but I know Charlotte. And I know she's counting her losses before they've even happened.

"You feel like you're gonna lose him, don't you?"

Her forehead falls against mine, and when she nods, I feel wetness against my cheeks. 

"James is your brother in every way that counts," I tell her. "Hell, if we use Tom as an example, he's better than most blood brothers. This is the guy who never stopped looking for you after your accident. He's willing to throw punches for you. And what I mean by that is that he's willing to punch me, and will probably take great pleasure in doing so if the need arises. Charlotte, babe,...he's not going anywhere."

She smiles uncertainly,wrapping her arms around me and scooting even closer, until there's barely any space between us.

"I'm still afraid."

"And that's ok." My finger slip under the hem of her slip, and we both shudder at the touch. "Just, remember that I'm here for you. Anything you need."

"Anything?"

"Would I lie to you?"

At that, Charlotte smiles wickedly, our fingers colliding as she lifts the satin number over her head, tossing it to the ground. She's naked underneath, and from the glint in her eye, she knows exactly what she's doing to me. 

"Make me forget, Sidney," she moans, giving into desire. "Remembering is too hard." And then her lips are on mine, her fingertips teasing my hair before beginning a slow descent down my neck to the scars on my chest. I slant her head to the side to taste her better, pushing my tongue past her lips, hot and aggressive.

What I don't tell her is that I don't want to make her forget, because I love all the beauty and trauma that makes her real. With each kiss I tell her that she's perfect. With each thrust I tell her that there's no place I'd rather be. And with each touch, I tell her that in every lifetime, I'd choose her over and over and over again. 

When she looks at me, I know she understands the words that tangle in my throat, being born and dying a thousand times. _I love you._

* * *

I fucking hate the sun for having the audacity to wake me with it's eternal optimism. My muscles ache and bones creak, my entire body rebelling against vertical movement as I struggle to get out of bed.

I'm not even fully awake yet, but three things are already crystal clear: I need Charlotte, want coffee, and strangely, miss Arthur's stupid face. 

When I reach over to pull Charlotte closer, all I find are cold sheets. Her absence wakes me faster than coffee ever could. I knock my phone over when I roll off the bed in a rising panic. No messages. No missed calls. A quick check around our room tells me what I already know-- she's not here. I circle back to the bed, a million possibilities running through my mind, and that when I see the neatly folded note on her pillow...exactly where it's been sitting all along. 

_You almost sent out a search party, didn't you? (Go ahead, admit it.) I'm going for a walk on the beach. I felt bad waking you when you need the rest. Be back soon. Love, Char xoxo_

_P.S. You look pretty_

I smile to myself because she knows me so well. It's just after nine, but it feels later. I wonder how long Charlotte's been up. I'm still mentally exhausted from yesterday's heaviness, and I know that it must be worse for her. I think we both learned way more than we were expecting. Charlotte is going to struggle with making sense of things she now knows, but doesn’t necessarily remember, and it's going to be hard, for the both of us.

Sitting back on the bed, I decide to make the most of my time alone by FaceTiming Arthur. The phone rings about twelve times before his tired face appears on the screen. He looks annoyed, and I'm ok with that.

"There better be a fucking good reason your face is on on my phone at three in the morning," he grumbles.

"Good morning to you too, dumbass." I wince inwardly. I'd completely forgotten about the six hour time difference.

His face momentarily disappears from the screen. I hear rustling and the flicker of a lamp switch, and then he's back with me, looking thoroughly disheveled and a lot like home.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of an interrupted rem cycle?"

"Can't a guy just miss his brother?"

His resting bitch face is everything. "When that guy is you, no."

"Fair point. You've defiled my coffee more than once, which is an unforgivable offense."

"I also superglued your shampoo shut, but that's not the point. Why do I get the feeling that something's wrong, Sid?"

"How's Tom?" I ask, deflecting. Arthur decides to humour me, shooting me a look that tells me I'm not fooling him.

"He's fine. Went to see the devil yesterday and now he has a few options to consider. Just don't ask me what they are because-- and I cannot stress this enough-- I wasn't actually listening. Everything he said went through one ear and came right out the other. Oh, and Mary's still not speaking to him."

We both smile, taking more pleasure in Tom’s comeuppance than we probably should. I hope he learns.

"Sooo, he's made progress, then?"

Arthur sighs dramatically. "You gonna tell me what's actually bothering you, or we gonna sit here going gray? Is it Charlotte? Did you fight again? What happened?"

I puff up my cheeks and exhale slowly. 

"Jesus, that bad, huh?," he says when he sees my expression. I grimace, feeling nothing but relief at not having to explain myself further. "Might as well tell me everything."

I give him the Cliff Notes version of events, and for once in his life he sits quietly and listens. His face on the other hand hosts a range of everything from _"oh my God!"_ to _"fucking hell!,"_ and I don't blame him. It's a wild story.

"So James isn't her blood brother?" His face is plastered with shock.

"No. He's not."

"Charlotte must be...devastated. Is she devastated? Does James know?

"I don’t think so." I suddenly feel even more tired remembering last night's conversation. "Charlotte and I talked, but this is seriously messing with her head. She's doubting everything, Arthur. I think I should probably give James a head's up about what Charlotte is going through without getting into specifics...but I know he'll freak out."

"Leave James to me," Arthur offers thoughtfully. "I'll talk to him. Plus, he likes me better."

"You're not wrong there. Are you sure, though?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it. Now, what's the plan? Are you still coming home in three days or what?"

I run my hand up my face and through my hair. "To be honest, I have no fucking clue. Charlotte might want to stay a bit longer, or she might want to hop on the first flight back. I do have a crazy idea for if we stay longer….it'll probably never work though."

The idea had taken root in my mind sometime between falling asleep and waking up. A grand gesture of love, for Charlotte. If I could pull it off, I hoped it would show her the true meaning of family. Arthur leans in conspiratorially, like we're planning a heist or something. 

"If it's for Charlotte, let's find a way to make it work. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Arthur, _everything_ about this depends on your help…"

* * *

We decide to stay in Spain for another week. Despite her family's complicated history here, Charlotte loves the place. We spend our days eating from local spots, and discovering little niches across the city. 

Still, when she smiles, it doesn't quite reach her eyes. Our conversations are short, and with each hour she appears less willing to speak about her parents or James, and what she feels about her complex past. I try not to take it too personally when she shuts down. I know she needs time to come to terms with the truth...and to learn that it doesn't have to define her.

If Charlotte notices my increased phone activity over the next couple days, she doesn't comment on it. There's a lot of back and forth between Arthur and myself, along with the two or a hundred nervous messages from James asking about his sister. 

Four days after my initial call with Arthur, everything is in place for the surprise. I'm on edge all day, nervous with tentative excitement. I keep checking my phone, glancing out the window, and jumping everytime I hear a movement. This time, Charlotte notices me acting shady as hell, and calls me out on it.

"Seriously, what's up with you today?," she asks, cocking a suspicious brow at me.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong." _Except that I have something huge planned for you and it may flop. Big time._

"I don't believe you. You've been this way for days. Don't think I haven't noticed…"

"I'm good, Charlotte. Never been better."

She steps toward me, practically backing me into the wall. "You are _such_ a bad liar," she whispers knowingly. Except she can't know anything, right? I'm seventy-seven percent sure no one would say anything to her, which is a pretty high probability considering who our friends are.

Our standoff is interrupted by a series of knocks on the door. Charlotte frowns in confusion because we're typically not interrupted in the room at this hour. My heart starts thundering because this is it. The moment of truth.

"Who could that be? Did you order room service and forget to tell me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I did," I admit, smiling at her back as she moves to open the door.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	50. CHARLOTTE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So....our story is coming to a close, and it's sad to be putting it to rest soon. We hope you enjoy this chapter. 
> 
> As always, thanks to everyone for reading. It means the world to us 💗

(CHARLOTTE)

So, my life feels very much like that song from Rob Thomas - _This is How a Heart Breaks_. I have fragments of the verse and chorus from the song on repeat in my head for days: 

_Life is like a mean machine_

_It made a mess out of me_

_And I’m steady though I’m starting to shake_

_And I don’t know how much more I can take…_

_This is how a heart breaks_

I came to Spain to face my father because I was too tired of running. Through the fragments of my life I'd managed to put together since the day I left the hospital, it appeared fairly plausible, if not certain, that he was the reason for all the heartbreak in my family. The image I had of my mom in my dreams and through James’ memories was a poetic ode to a mythical creature with superhuman powers. Discovering that she was flawed and, thus, very much human, made my fragile world begin to crumble. All the painful misunderstandings and anguish that united my mom and Will with an invisible thread overpowered my frail confidence. _What if I am just like her?_

After the accident, for weeks, I lived thinking that I was alone in this world. But then, following the trail of little crumbs, I got James back into my life. For a bit, I even believed that my mom was still alive somewhere, and that thought felt reassuring and warm. A velvety feeling of solace slowly trickled down, deep enough to allow me to settle into it. Having two people in the world who love me dearly, who share my blood, and share my past was immensely comforting. Because, in a family, there is an indiscernible string that connects everyone. And, even through heartache and years of separation, that string unites them. It cannot be broken. 

As it turns out, I hold no strings. All the loose ends have drowned in a cascade of horrific events. The unbreakable bond between me and James doesn’t appear as ironclad now that I knew he wasn't my half brother, and I am terrified that he would see that too. Our undeniable connection has always been rooted in our mutual rebellion against the tyranny of our father. Not having this in common anymore threatens to demolish the main pillar of our relationship. 

As I listened to Will and Remy reveal the truth about my mom, I felt the undoing of those strings. It was a physical sensation, like something inside me ripped apart. I attempted to fight it, frantically trying to stitch up the broken edges, but it was a futile attempt. I held onto Sidney’s hand, feverish, palms sweating. My legs were thumping uncontrollably under the table, following the rhythm of the beats of distraught. His steady posture served as my barometer, measuring the change in the airwaves in the stuffy room. 

It took me days to process it all. The constant rumble of the sea around us made me feel like I was a lost ship in the doom of an impossible storm. The darkness was paralyzing and the crashing of the waves bounced incoherent thoughts in my mind, which made me feel dazed and astray most of the time. Sidney’s unwavering presence brought me back to shore often, so that I could take deep breaths of optimism. He remained by my side, supportive, loving and understanding, allowing me to digest the new truths at my own pace…

* * *

Alma was a troubled soul. She loved recklessly and unapologetically. Her personality was just like her art - passionate, unpredictable, tumultuous, awe-inspiring and dichotomous. She met my father - the real one - when she was young. Their hearts collided instantaneously and the two became inseparable. She knew no restraint and dragged everyone into the whirlpool of her emotions. My mom was intrinsically connected to the water from a very young age. She loved swimming and losing herself in the tide, but so did my dad. 

They wandered into the sea at dawn and right before the sunset, naked, allowing the waves to caress their bare skin. They made love without regrets, drinking from the fountain of desire. Their relationship was turbulent. Their fights were vehement. But they always found a way back to each other. Alma did not want to commit to a relationship in the traditional sense. She did not believe in marriage. However, she did believe that everyone has a soulmate, and that the water hosts our souls when they are searching. 

My dad - Aidan - was a talented musician. He used to play in a small club in Sanditon. He met my mom one night, when she was dancing by herself, oblivious to the curious eyes and spiteful comments surrounding her. She captured his heart straightaway, and his love for her had no bounds. Contrary to my mom, my dad was steadfast, predictable, reliable, and good natured. He was humble, even though he was incredibly successful and popular. He carried the traditional values with him, having grown up in a loving family. He believed that Alma and him were destined to create a large family, but only after having their marriage blessed by the Lord. 

The day he drowned, he had intended to propose to my mom. There was a violent storm in the forecast that day, but my dad insisted that they go to the beach. For years, Remy wondered what happened that day, as Alma disappeared immediately after Aidan's death. According to the coroner, the cause of death was drowning. But how can an expert swimmer drown?

Alma showed up at Remy’s door one night, many years after my dad’s death. She was dragging a large painting with her. It was _Touching Water._ In one long breath, he told my grandfather what happened that fateful day. Tears were streaming down her face, as she was recounting the events with excruciating detail. Aidan proposed as they were settling down at the beach. He asked her to marry him in an original song he had just written for my mom. She refused his proposal without mercy, dismissing all of his attempts to persuade her. 

_“I don’t believe in marriage! We don’t need anyone’s blessing to be happy. It’s just about the two of us … and our children - the product of our everlasting love.”_

My dad did not take it well. Rage rushed into his head, boiling his blood. He bolted towards the sea, where turbulent waves were crashing, high and ominous. Alma ran after him, trying to pull him away, back to shore. But Aidan kept charging further away, with large angry strokes. He was so stubborn. My mom screamed after him, pleaded and cried. He never looked back, until she lost sight of him. She made failed attempts to swim in his direction, but the waves kept throwing her back to shore. Exhausted, she searched the waters for a sign of my dad, but he was gone. She called his name for hours, until she lost her voice…

My dad’s lifeless body washed ashore the following morning. Remy saw Alma in the crowd. 

_“She looked like a ghost, Charlotte. There was nothing left of that vibrant young woman I knew. As if the storm had stolen her soul that day…”_

* * *

The knock at the hotel door becomes more persistent, as I jump into my dress, striding down the corridor.

“Ya vengo!” I say impatiently, as I slam open the door. To my utter surprise, James, Arthur, Esther and Babbers are all standing in front of me. 

“Surpriiiiiiiiiiiise!” They all say tentatively, unsure how best to interpret my complete bewilderment. 

“Erm… what’s going on?” My gaze jumps from Sidney to Arthur to James… Without waiting for further invitation or acknowledgement, they all entrap me into a big hug. 

“We came because we love you.” I hear James’ whisper in my ear. “And… because you need us.”

“I heard you miss my chocolate cakes.” Arthur chimes in quietly.

“I thought you might need some girl time.” Esther adds, while Babbers squeezes my hand with encouragement. 

Quiet tears of happiness pace slowly down my cheeks. The energy in the room is cathartic. I throw Sidney a quick appreciative glance, mouthing “ _Thank you._ ” His dark eyes are full of love, as he stands leisurely by the balcony door. 

“Who’s hungry?” Arthur breaks the silence. “That airplane food was atrocious. I am dying for some Spanish tapas.”

“Well, good, because I have a surprise for you all!” All eyes turn to Sidney. “Go settle in and let’s meet in front of the hotel in half an hour.” 

“Wait, where are you all staying?” I ask, still amazed at how they organized this so quickly. “Here?” I motion in the general direction of the hotel. The wave of nods tells me that they are indeed all staying in our hotel. 

Our friends leave the room, one by one, giving me an extra hug for good measure. I search James’ eyes before he walks out, only to find the kind look of worry and endearment. I wonder how much he knows about what transpired in the last few days. 

As the shuffle outside the room fades away, I jump into Sidney’s embrace, trapping his waist with my legs. 

“How’d you manage to organize this?”

“Well, you’ve been out and about a lot these past few days… It’s not like I didn’t have tons of extra time on my hands.” I search his face for reproach, but I only see affection and concern. 

“I know. I was convinced that all this alone time will help me figure things out…”

“And?” His adorable face is so kissable when he has this look. 

“Nothing. I feel so trapped. Stuck in this void…”

“You’re not in a void, babe, I hope you can see that. You’re surrounded by love.”

I sigh. Of course he’s right. I just wish I knew how to trick my brain to believe it.

* * *

Sidney leads the way to the mysterious place where we are all having a private dinner. I trail behind, slowing down my steps, intentionally finding myself next to James.

“Hi…” I say awkwardly. Such a wretched beginning. He will notice my stiffness and wonder what the hell is going on. 

“Char! What happened?” I sense bottled up anxiety in his voice. “Arthur was very cryptic in his explanations. He convinced me not to call you, which has been impossible, to be honest…” I gently grab his arm to stop his rambling.

“James, take a deep breath with me, ok?”

“Ok. But, but… I am not ok.” I feel a terrible pit in my stomach. Do I have to tell him? Does he really need to know? I mentally slap myself for even thinking those thoughts. We can only survive this if we are entirely open with each other.

“I need you to listen to me now. Please don’t ask any questions until I am finished speaking…Otherwise, well… I might not be able to say what I need to say.”

“You are scaring me, Charlotte!” He’s nearly on the edge of hysteria. I slow down even more, to get out of the earshot of the rest of the group. 

“So, I saw dad at an exhibition of my mom’s work.” He nods impatiently, hanging on my every word. “As we were looking through her art, I stumbled upon this large portrait of a young man who… erm… looked like my male version.” 

Confusion runs through his face. I can tell that he’s trying to make sense of my words. His eyes grow a bit bigger with a flash of realization. 

“What does this mean?” His voice is low. “It can’t be a portrait of dad because you don’t look like him much. Are you telling me you have a twin we didn’t know about?” 

“No! Oh, James, no!” I know that I must end his misery. I just don’t know how to say what I need to say… “Will is not my dad.”

There is something to be said about ripping the bandaid. I exhale loudly, immediately feeling the load lifted off my shoulders. But then I realize that it lands firmly on his, as he stops in his tracks, looking smaller.

“But, but… then… I am not your brother?” There is so much hurt in those few words. 

“That’s one way to look at it.” The concealed torment I have been going through these past few days pours out of me. “In fact, I have been worried sick that you will see it that way…” 

I speed up, suppressing the tears. He chases after me.

“Char, wait! You didn’t understand my meaning… or, or… I didn’t express myself very eloquently just now.” He searches my eyes, pulling my chin up. “I will _always_ be your brother. Nothing changes between us.”

“But… you said…”

“Never mind what I said! Who cares that we are not connected by blood. But tell me more. Who is your real dad?”

He walks by my side silently, as I recount my conversation with Will and then Remy. He seems fully engaged, nodding and releasing sighs of surprise from time to time. 

“Wow, Char! What a story…” He gives me a hug, squeezing my shoulders. “How are you processing all this?”

“Not well. It’s like… in less than an hour.. I was left with no family at all.”

“Absolutely not! Look around. Your entire family is right here.” He points at Sidney and the rest of the gang in the distance. “You have a brother who will forever annoy you with his overprotectiveness. You have a man in your life who is willing to move mountains for you. You have a future brother-in-law who can save you from starvation and boredom even in the most remote corner of the world… So, do you see what I see?”

“I also have a grandfather who I need to get to know, and the best, most supportive friends one can ask for…” I look at the four figures in front of us. Arthur must be telling a joke because I can see them all shaking with the laughter. As if sensing my gaze, they all turn around in unison and wave at us.

“Hurry up, you two, slow pokes! I am gonna die of hunger.” Arthur mockingly whines in the distance.

How did I miss this? The answer was right in front of me, roaring to capture my attention. I don’t need a blood connection to feel belonging. The strings that unite me to James, Sidney, Arthur and the rest of the people in my life are just as strong as the lost thread that united me to my mom, and Jesus. If I wanted to live a wholesome life, it was time for me to let go of the past and embrace the present. 

We rush to catch up with the rest of the group. I curve my arm around Sidney’s waist and hold him tight.

“I have been so blind. You patiently waited for me to see it, didn’t you…” 

“I am glad you finally did, babe.”


	51. SIDNEY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get your keenex out! The FINAL CHAPTER of #DreamFic is full of bittersweeet endings and the promise of new beginnings. We hope you laugh, cry and feel all the feels! 
> 
> It's been a privilege to write this story, to imagine into words this version of Sidlotte. That @onedaytweet and I were able to make this happen across countries and times zones is still a mystery to me. 
> 
> Thanks, to all of you for your support, words of encouragement, and for being on this journey with us. We love you.
> 
> P.S. I think I'll miss Arthur most 💔

(SIDNEY)

_"The wheel is come full circle." -Shakespeare_

**Six months later...**

It's been almost thirteen years since I've seen the inside of a hospital, and almost as long since I swore I would never set foot in one again. 

Strangely, it's the one promise I don't mind breaking.

The thought of florescent lights, mechanical whirring, of walls steeped in antiseptic, never failed to make me nauseous. Waves of it would crash over me everytime I thought of the place where the boy in me died a thousand times for the man in me to live. It was the most traumatic coming of age imaginable. And yet, when we got the call, I ignored the instant lump in my throat, the sweat that pooled out of nowhere on my brow, and shoved down my own fears to hold someone else's. My friend, my brother, as he becomes a father, making space to hold his heart outside his body. 

Tonight, Charlotte's bright eyes found mine in the dark of our bedroom, and she kissed me lingeringly before pulling us both out of bed. _This will be a good day_ , she told me without uttering a word, _you'll see_. And above the noisy rush of blood in my ears, I believed her.

"Are you ready?," she asked excitedly, as if we were the ones expecting a baby. 

"To watch Esther kill Babbers in childbirth?" I laughed lightly, suddenly giddy with her residual joy. "Absolutely."

" _Sidney--!"_

"What? We both know he'll be in more pain than she will..."

Charlotte shot me a warning look, her brows knitted in exaggerated displeasure. "Hush your mouth, Sidney Parker. Your best friend is about to become a dad. Show some respect!"

Just then, Arthur poked his head through the door, a slightly manic expression coloring his normally calm features.

"For the recond, _I'm_ Sidney’s best friend, Esther is totally going to throw Babbers out of the delivery room, and we've been pregnant for a hundred years and I'm still not ready! Now shut up, come on, and let's go! There's no way I'm missing this."

"She will not throw him out!, " Charlotte grumbled in protest.

"Ten bucks says she will," Arthur insisted, snapping in half to pull up his mismatched socks. 

"Twenty says she won't."

Charlotte screwed up her eyes at him, quiet determination flashing across her beautiful face...and I said nothing because it would have meant certain death to admit that I was with Arthur on this one. That Esther would curse, maim and throw things at Babbers in the delivery room was absolutely a given, but hey, I'm nothing if not a reasonable guy. I'd love to be proven wrong...except that I won't be. If the past few months of nausea, swollen ankles, and endless complaints were any indication, labour was not going to improve Esther's already short fuse. God help us all.

Charlotte pulled her hair into a messy bun. I grabbed my keys. We shared a knowing look. A breath. A pause. One more minute of just us, of things remaining unchanged, before we're smiling, laughing, tumbling out the door, careening toward the promise of a new beginning.

Sitting here now in the pastel waiting area, I tell myself that I'm ok. Because I am. While the room itself isn't exactly soothing, the sounds that scatter and move around us are. James snoozes peacefully across three padded chairs, despite Nurse Polly's ongoing vendetta to ply him with blankets. Charlotte's hand doesn't leave mine as she chats up an older couple awaiting the birth of their first grandchild. Just outside the glass enclosure, Arthur flirts with a gaggle of nurses, his boyish charm in full-swing. Padded footfalls and quiet murmers of encouragement chorus through the halls, ending in only in one thing: the pulsating crescendo of new breaths and first cries.

I think it's the most beautiful sound in existence.

It makes me hopeful, that sound. It makes remembering less of a burden. And I think about how, in this place where life is in constant chaos with death, there's one ward that continually defies the odds. After suffering, there can be joy. _Growing pains_ , I think, feeling the truth of it hit the soft underside of my heart. It seeps through the scars on my chest and into my bones, reminding me that the things that rip us open don't always tear us apart. As insane as it may sound, some fractures make us whole.

Charlotte jostles my hand suddenly, igniting a burning trail of pins and needles up my arm.

"Ouch!," I try to flex my arm, but it's no use. My muscles are too stiff.

"Sorry...!," she groans, leaning slightly away from me. "You ok? You were clenching my hand pretty hard there."

I look down at where our hands are tangled, only just noticing that I'm white-knuckled and that Charlotte's fist has all but disappeared inside of mine. 

"Shit, babe, why didn't you say anything?"

"Not a big deal," she replies, although her hand is pale and splotchy from being squeezed to death. I gently begin massaging some colour back into her fingers.

"I guess I'm a little nervous," I admit after turning the emotion around in my mind for a bit. "We've been sitting here a long time."

Three and a half hours to be exact. When we got here, Esther was nowhere near ready to push, so we've been camping out to the music of our own thoughts ever since. It's the middle of the night, so we're all on high alert but also dead tired, if that's even possible. Too pumped for coffee, too tired for food. 

"I'm a little nervous too," Charlotte says apprehensively, leaning her head on my shoulder. "I don't think I've held a baby before. Or, if I have, I can't remember it. Is that weird?"

"No. Definitely not weird," I assure her, not trusting myself to speak any further.

I toy with a stray tendril of her hair, allowing the image of her cradling a baby to knock the breath out of me. _Jeez, where did that come from?_ I tell myself that I'm not ready for babies, but even in my head, the argument flops, and it scares me just a little.

At this precise moment, the double doors swing open and we all look up in anticipation. Well, everyone except for James, who kind of slides onto the floor in slow motion. It's Babbers, with Arthur flagging just behind him. He looks utterly exhausted.

"Oh my God," Arthur mutters anxiously. "Is the baby here?"

Babbers leans against the wall for supports, shuttering his eyes and squeezing them shut. 

"God, I wish," he says tiredly, his mind obviously on Esther. "The woman damn near broke my fingers everytime a contraction hit. She's only seven centimeters dilated and I'm beginning to think that I'm the one who might not make it out."

"That bad, huh?" I reach out to grip his shoulder supportively.

"It'll be over soon," Charlotte adds, "Just think, soon you'll have your baby in your arms, and you won't remember ever being in pain."

She smirks at him, and he rolls his eyes at her, a reluctant smile breaking through. He knows we'll never let him live down complaining about his poor, aching hand while Esther is in the throes of childbirth.

"Well, you'll be happy to know that she's thrown me out of the room for the time being. Apparently I'm "fucking annoying," and it's driving her insane. "She's cursing left, right and centre." 

Babbers pauses, sighing deeply, a wary expression plastered on his ace. Just behind him, Arthur silently fist pumps the air. Then, he looks straight Charlotte in the eye.

"YOU OWE ME TWENTY BUCKS, SUCKER! I told you! I told you this would happen!"

She glares at him menacingly. "You're being ridiculous, Arthur Parker. I'm sure Esther didn't actually mean what she said--"

"Oh no," Babbers says, "Better get your wallet out because she absolutely meant every single word. Actually, Charlotte, she was asking for you."

"Me? Really? Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, I'm sure. Now please...please give the woman what she wants."

She gives me a tiny surprised smile as she makes her exit, heading down the hall to Esther's private room. When she's gone, James shifts his ass from its resting spot on the floor and pulls himself up.

"Jeez, I'm wiped," he says. "I could use a coffee. How about I get you one too?"

"Yeah, that would be great, thanks," Babbers replies, glancing at me. I can tell he wants to get whatever he's thinking off his chest, but would rather not have an audience.

"Hey Arthur, why don't you help James grab some drinks and snacks for all of us?" I hold his gaze briefly, and that's all it takes for him to know that we need a minute.

"Come on, James. Let's get these two the worst cafeteria food they've ever had..."

When Arthur and James have left, Babbers unapologetically slumps down in one of the armchairs. Worry lines crease his youthful face, and it dawns on me that he's also giving birth to the father inside of him, learning how to navigate a completely new identity...and he's incredibly scared. Hell, I would be too.

"Hey," I murmer, nudging his shoulder. "Remember to breathe."

He lets out a shuddering breath and cradles his head in his hands. I'm unsure of what to say next, of what I could possibly say that would be remotely helpful. And it sucks, because I want to be a voice of reason and comfort, like he's been for me countless times over the years.

"This is hard, you know?" I nod, even though I don't know, not really. "I mean, I'm excited. When I think back to how long it took Esther to actually go out with me, I can't believe that I get to do this with her. But she's in so much fucking pain, and it's hard to watch her like that, knowing that I can't do a single thing about it."

"I know that it's hard," I tell him, thinking about how helpless I'd feel watching Charlotte go through the same thing, "but I think you're doing and amazing job. You're exactly who Esther wants...and needs right now. You know that, right?"

"Do I? What if I'm not enough? What if I'm a shit dad?"

"Impossible." I laugh then, because the idea of him being a bad father is the most incredulous thing I've ever heard.

"It's not funny. I'm having an eleventh hour freakout here!"

"Listen, man, I know it's scary. There's no manual on how to be a good parent. You're going to mess up. Probably a whole lot--

"Is this supposed to be making me feel better?," Babbers groans, looking up at me with pleading eyes.

I'm no good at this. He's usually the one dishing out words of wisdom. Taking a deep breath, I try again.

"What I mean is that it's not supposed to be easy. Good things never are, but you and Esther are beyond ready to do this. Like, holy shit, you made a whole person together, and that's pretty damn amazing. And yeah, you're going to mess up, but your kid isn't going to care about that. So...you're going to stand up, take a deep breath, and march back into that delivery room. Then you're going to hold Esther's hand, and pretend that she didn't throw you out."

"Thanks, Sidney." He chuckles, a mixture of nerves and excitement.

"I'm happy for you, bro. You're going to be a great dad."

At that, he cracks a smile of relief, and I feel the tension ease in my chest. I recognize the expression on his face, not doubt, but anticipation for this next step in his life. This is what it means to stand at the event horizon, waiting for the world to turn, waiting for it to change us with it. 

We sit quietly for a few more minutes, until we can both hear Esther's pained moans echoing through the quiet halls. The doors swing open again, Charlotte appearing out of nowhere.

"She needs you. _Now_!" 

There's no mistaking Charlotte's meaning. It's go time. We both rise quickly, and I swear I can hear our hearts beating. Babbers gives me a quick hug.

"You ready?," I ask him, for posterity.

"Never," he replies confidently, before turning swiftly and making a run for it.

It seems like an age passes after he's gone. We all take turns standing up, sitting down and anxiously pacing the waiting room as we wait for news. Arthur and James come back with food and drink that lay untouched. No one's hungry. We don’t speak much either. Charlotte begins to fidget so badly that I pull her close and hold her in my arms just to keep her still. 

Finally-- finally, after what seems like forever, a nurse pops in to let us know that Esther and Babington are ready to see us. We don't need to be told twice. One second, we're pacing, the next, we're piling into the cushy delivery room, eager to meet the little one who brought us here.

I see Esther first, propped up in the bed, ringlets of matted red hair framing her triumphant face. She looks fierce, and yet, softer than I've ever seen her. Her robe is slightly opened, and on the plane of white skin above her heart lies a baby. He's tiny, tinier than I expected, but then what do I know about babies? Soft red fuzz covers his head, and his perfect little finger is curved around his mama's. 

"This is Jack," Babington says with so much love it almost hurts to hear it out loud. 

"Jack," Charlotte repeats, in wonder. "It's perfect. He's perfect."

"Do you want to hold him?," Esther asks, smiling at Charlotte's hesitant expression.

"Don't worry, he won't bite. Not yet, anyway."  
Carefully, she peels him away from her warmth, gently placing his sleeping form in Charlotte's waiting arms. 

While Arthur and James murmur well wishes (and try to pan off stale food to the the new parents), I lean against the cool hospital wall to gaze at Charlotte. She cradles Jack awkwardly at first, shifting him into the crook of her arm, relaxing more as he settles in. And when she looks up at me with a radiant smile, I know that I want this, all of it, with her. The realization punches me in the gut and steals my breath, and I wonder, not for the first time, if she wants it too. 

It's seeing her like that that makes me think about the sacrifices we make for the people we love. I think about her mom all those years ago, settling for less in the hope that Charlotte would have more. I think about Esther, and Babbers and how their love has made them whole. How another wandering soul has found his way home. 

I had love all wrong, you see. Love doesn't need to have a future to matter. It exists here, now, in the tiny cracks along the surface of our lives. I think about that recurrent dream, the one that used to wake me in cold sweat at night, until I feel it shifting inside me like a little earthquake, rearranging itself into the light we cannot see, the future we have not yet lived. I see her face, Charlotte's, her breath colliding with mine, and think of how, one day, our love will grow tiny fingers and toes, echoing a new dream in the space between us.

When the room shifts back into focus, I think about my mom, and how I miss her face, her smile, her everything. I always will. I remember the feel of her hand in mine those last minutes, the shape of her last words tremoring in my ears. Hold on. This is what love is, I think, choosing when to hold on, and learning when to let go. I finally understand that she was telling me to wait for this, for these people and this love, and a life so full that it's bursting. I just couldn't see it then.

This time, when I let go, it doesn't hurt. This time, I'm ready. _Look at us now, mom. Look how far we've come._

* * *

I decide that I like her best like this. 

Charlotte sits adjacent to me on the sofa, cooing at baby Jack, who's propped on her arched legs. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face, and her bare feet are burrowed under my thighs for warmth. In July. She seems completely at home with herself.

Esther and Babington passed out in the spare bedroom within minutes of dropping both their baby and a fully stocked diaper bag into our lap. This is the third time this week they've done this, but whenever I have the audacity to complain, Charlotte shoots me down. Actually, I'm thinking about putting up a fuss more often, because the make-up sex is pretty damn great. Somewhere in the background, the KitchenAid whirs to life, drowning out Arthur's frantic movements. Quite literally, our apartment, littered with half- opened boxes and other random crap, is a perfect euphemism for our upturned lives.

At the beginning of the month, Charlotte decided to in with me...(and Arthur, who we're apparently stuck with for life.) James agreed to take over her lease for the next couple months, which worked out perfectly, since he's been looking for a place to live that's closer to his sister. It feels natural to have her here all the time, and even I'm astonished at how seamlessly we've made the transition. I like the look of her stuff cluttered with mine in every possible space. The closet. The bathroom. The bed. It's like we're always touching.

"How'd it go with Remy yesterday?," I ask, allowing my gaze to rest on Charlotte and Jack.

She's been venturing out to see her grandfather every few weeks since Spain. Sometimes I go with her, sometimes James, but this time she went alone. It's a huge step forward.

Her face lights up. "Good. Really good..." she says, launching into a play by play. "He wants me to meet his daughter, my aunt, I guess..."

I glance at her sharply, but she avoids my gaze. "Is that what you want, babe?"

"I don't know," she replies honestly, shushing Jack as he begins to fuss.

"It's ok to take it slow. Don't feel pressured into doing anything you're not ready for."

"I won't. Remy's been great so far. And I admit that I'm curious about meeting my dad's sister. Apparently she has a lot of photographic evidence of my parents' escapades....she also has two teenaged daughters."

"Cousins, huh? That'll be fun..."

"Yeah," she sighs, "I just want to make sure that I'm all in before I commit to meeting them. I would hate to be nothing but a disappearing act in their lives."

There it is, her biggest insecurity rearing its ugly head. I was waiting for it to make an appearance, but hoping that it wouldn't. 

"You won't be," I tell her, laughing, and hugging her knees close. "You'll be that badass, long-lost relative who'll keep their secrets, and sneak them drinks, and be their alibi when they're sneaking around at night."

"Yeah...maybe," Charlotte admits, in a voice that tells me that she's already thinking about it. "Hey, can you hold Jack for a sec?"

I reach over to take him from her, loving the way his little body scrunches up when lift him. He's kinda cute for a toothless guy. I fully expect Charlotte to get up and stretch her legs, maybe get a snack, but she leans back against the armrest, looking over at me with a tender expression.

"What?," I ask curiously.

"Baby is a good look on you, Mr. Parker," she replies, blushing a little. "Sexiest ever. Makes me want to jump you."

"Is that so?" I try to play it cool, but can't help the way my mouth crooks up into a pleased smile. Just one look at Charlotte is enough to tell me what I have to look forward to later.

"Jesus Christ, you two are gross." It's Arthur. Of course it is, with stellar timing, as usual. I roll my eyes so hard that they hurt. I didn’t even hear him come out of the kitchen. "I need to have a serious talk with Esther and Babington about bringing that kid around so often. It's ridiculous, really."

"Don't listen to him, Jack," I retort, "he's just jealous."

"As if. Whenever you two babysit, you spend the entire day making eyes at each other, and I spend the entire night wishing I was deaf."

Charlotte snorts back a fit of laughter, slapping a hand over her mouth to contain it. Not gonna lie, he's not wrong, but I'm not about to admit it.

"Ok bro, first of all it's called sex--"

"Whatever you guys are doing is not sex. More like copulating...like animals."

"And second," I say, talking over him, "ever hear about moving out?"

He glares at me, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "What, and deny you the pleasure of my company? Never. Now give Jack back to Char...I need your help in the kitchen."

Reluctantly, I do as he tells me, taking my sweet time handing off the baby and kissing Charlotte, while Arthur taps his foot impatiently.

"Anytime this century, Sidney. I'm on a tight schedule, here!"

"Coming, your majesty!" I bow in mock reverence. He smirks smugly, turning on his heel and leaving me to trudge behind him into the kitchen. 

"Holy fuck, what happened in here?," I ask in horror, lingering at the entrance. It looks like chocolate exploded on every possible surface. There's hardly any walking room either. Coolers are stacked three-high on the floor, along with a mess of plastic cake slice containers.

"Oh that," Arthur says flippantly, completely unphased, "ummm, I forgot to turn the mixer off when I added the cocoa, and poof, chocolate vomit. Who knew, right?"

"Well, I hope you're going to clean it up before it calcifies..." Sidestepping some coolers, I step into the kitchen. It's a tight squeeze. "What do you need help with anyway?"

He motions to a white chocolate raspberry torte sitting on the countertop. "Use the cake cutter to slice that and put each piece in a container for me."

"Charlotte would have done a better job," I mutter, but Arthur doesn't answer. Sweat beads his forehead, and there's a look of intense concentration on his face as he measures out ingredients. "Hey, you ok? Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

"Of course I'm fucking nervous about tomorrow, Sidney! The kitchen's a mess, I've got three more cakes to bake and decorate, and I'm running out of both space and patience!"

This weekend, Arthur (with Charlotte's help), is participating in _Cake on the Street_ , an outdoor dessert festival on one of the busiest streets downtown. He's running his own dessert stall, and up until now, has been pretty gung-ho about the whole thing. I know that this is huge for him and that he wants it to be a success. I also know he's got his eye on a rad food truck, but investing in it will only be worthwhile if people actually know about him. Needless to say, he's under a lot of pressure.

"Maybe you should take a break. You know, sit down, breathe, maybe eat something?"

"HOW CAN I THINK OF EATING AT A TIME LIKE THIS?," he wheezes, sitting down at the island and shoveling a piece of cake into his mouth. "God, that's so good."

This is bad. He's eating his inventory and fizzling out a full two days ahead of schedule. I start wondering when our roles got reversed, when he started depending on me to keep him grounded. Or maybe its just that I'm giving more than I take these days.

"Take a breather, kid. I'm useless when it comes to baking, but I've got this covered." I start boxing up slices. It's tedious work, but also easy. "So did Tom ever get back to you? Is he coming? I know Diana said she'd pop by to see you in action tomorrow."

His fork clatters onto he counter. "Oh please God, no, Sidney! How am I going to focus if Diana's around? She. Will. Make. My. Life. A. Living. Hell."

"Chill out! I've got plans to keep her distracted." That's kind of a lie. I haven't got any Diana-related plans, but I will by tomorrow. "Any word on Tom?"

"Hmmmm, yeah," comes his absent-minded reply, "Mary and the kids are definitely going to make the trip, and weird as it might sound, I'm kinda hoping Tom can come too. He's been working overtime on some flips and might not be able to get away..."

Arthur falls silent then, and while he eats his feelings, I try not to feel bad about Tom selling his share of the business to pay Campion back. The realtor who bought him out has a much better head for business, and as much as it hurt to branch out, it needed to be done. Things are still a bit rocky between Tom and myself. He hasn't forgiven me for punching his stupid face, and I'm still bitter about him burning Charlotte's letter, but it is what it is. We'll get past it. Eventually.

When he's done with his cake, Arthur comes around to help me package the rest of it for the food festival. He clears his throat an abnormal amount of times, like he wants to say something but can't get the words out. It's making me uncomfortable.

Minutes tick by. I hear Esther wake up and join Charlotte out in the living room. A while later, Babbers wades out as well, but Arthur still hasn't said a word.

"Sooo," he says slowly. _About bloody time_. "You ever gonna do anything about that engagement ring you have hidden in mom's old jewelry box?"

My hands still. My ears burn and cheeks blaze, and my heart pounds outside my body. 

"How the hell did you know that?," I ask hoarsely, in a voice I don't recognize. That box is well hidden, so unless he's psychic or a snoop, he couldn't have known about the vintage ring I bought and tucked away months ago.

"I have my ways," he says mysteriously. "What are you waiting for, Sidney? She loves you, and I know you love her. You do know that she'll say yes, right?"

"Yep," I say tightly. I mean, I hope she'll say yes. When I ask, that is.

"Life's too short, bro. Don't hold back on something you want this badly."

I sigh deeply, lowering my voice. "Charlotte's been through a lot recently. All this stuff with James and her family has been overwhelming. I...didn't want to add to that. And I keep thinking, slow down, you haven't even known her a year."

Arthur stops what he's doing, belting out a wry laugh. Then he looks me square in the eye, all traces of humour gone. "I think we both know that you've known Charlotte way longer than that."

And he's right, isn't he? I've known her forever.

* * *

I'm not a man of many words. My nose is more comfortable in a book than it is in most other places. Romance doesn't come naturally to me like it does to others. I prefer nights in to nights out, secrets whispered between the sheets, the sound of Charlotte's heartbeat against mine, her fingers in my hair. Anything with her.

Everything with her.

I sit on Arthur's advice for weeks, coming close, but never quite scaring up enough courage to take the plunge. So many times, in the soft glow of our ordinary moments, the words have danced on my tongue, always retreating before I can get them out. So many times, Charlotte has sensed the question simmering beneath the surface of my skin, but what could I possibly say to articulate the enormity of what I need to ask?

The day I tell Arthur to clear out of the apartment, his eyes grow wide, but he says nothing. Not a word. He grabs his stuff and disappears with a ghost of a smile and a whispered "good luck," leaving me to the mercy of my nerves.

How do you ask the woman you love to walk with you through life? To be yours? Is there a right way? Does it require rose petals and candles and an audience? Or is it enough to offer your love without embellishment? 

All these questions, these doubts, these hopes, play through my mind as I retrieve my mom’s silver jewelry box from its (apparently not so secret) resting place. My hands tremble a little to hold it, knowing what's inside.

I sit down on the bed with the box in my lap, waiting for Charlotte to come home to me. It seems like an age, but really it's not, when I hear the key in the lock, followed by her soft footsteps down the hall to our room.

"Hey..." Her fingers glide along the wall to the dresser, flipping on the lamp. "What are you doing in the dark?"

"Thinking about you." When I see the faint blush creep into her cheeks, my heart begins stammering fiercely. "Come here," I say, setting the jewelry box down in front of me.

She crawls onto the bed, tucking her calves under her, and sweeping her hair to one side. I want to kiss the exposed side of her neck, but hold back. _Later_ , I think... _after_.

"What is this?," she asks softly, running her hand across the embossed cover. "It's beautiful."

"It's a jewelry box...it was my mom’s, but it's yours now. I think she'd want you to have it."

I hear her sharp intake of breath, the heat of her gaze across my face. "Can I open it?," she whispers, as the space between us hums with electricity.

"I think you have to."

I memorize this moment. The silence. The slow descent of her eyes, her fingers tracing the outline of my hopes for our future, her shallow gasp as the diamond catches the light. The way tears escape her eyes before I've said a word.

Reaching in, I gently grasp the thin gold band. The round cut, offset by a delicate circle of sapphires, feels weightless in my hand. And then I remember to breathe.

"Charlotte...I love you as you are. I love you, always. You make me want to be a better man, and I need you to know that everything that I am belongs to you." I swallow hard, focusing on her expectant face, instead of the wildness inside my soul. "Will you marry me?"

One second, then two. Her eyes blink open and shut. And then she's kissing me like she's never kissed me before. Her legs straddle my hips, her fingers are in my hair and her tongue swirls with mine, hot heavy, demanding more. Who am I to deny her needs? I sink into our kiss, giving her my all. 

When we come up for air, I cup her face, leaning my forehead against hers. "You never did answer my question."

She smiles against my lips, kissing me gently. "Oh Sidney," she breathes, "Yes. My answer has always been yes."

"Well then..." I slip the ring onto her outstretched finger, and the rest, well the rest is history.


End file.
